


Starlight

by princessraya



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares, Star Gazing, slow build romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 78,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessraya/pseuds/princessraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't mean to fall asleep on Cas that night they went stargazing, and he probably shouldn't have let the angel get in bed with him in that one crappy hotel, even if it was only for a bit. As Dean tells Sam, he is absolutely not, it no way what-so-ever interested in Cas, but lately things have been getting a bit out of hand. And Dean's not so sure anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night was cool for summer, but hardly cold. The tall grass whispered in the breeze. Besides the constant synchronized chirp of crickets, everything was still. With a small sigh Dean leaned back against the front windshield of the Impala and looked up. It had been months since the last time he'd been stargazing, but it felt even longer. Way longer. 

The stars were very bright and seemed to hang low in the sky. Just out of reach. Dean half wished he'd taken the time to learn a constellation or two, but it wasn't as if he'd had a whole lot of it lately (time that is.) The quiet was strange. Dean had to admit that he'd been avoiding quiet places, the same way he avoided sleeping. Sleep made him vulnerable to the one thing that no amount of salt or silver bullets could vanquish - the nightmares. Dean knew that Sam and Bobby were very aware of his nightmares, but there was a sort of unspoken agreement that no one talked about them. He made sure that everyone in the world knew that he was not into any of that share-your-feelings crap.

Dean shifted slightly, yawning. The problem with not sleeping was, of course, that coffee could only go so far. He was resolutely trying to ignore his heavy eyelids, but it was hard. Without the distraction of porn playing in the background and weapons to be cleaned and organized, he began to worry he’d drift off. And perhaps he would have, if not for a soft rustle behind him. 

Dean jerked upwards, hand moving unconsciously to his hip for a knife. When his eyes met the sight of the rumpled trench coat he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed. Perhaps a little of both. “Cas I almost stabbed you.” Dean observed, tucking the knife back to safety with a practiced motion. The angel didn’t answer, but simply studied him calmly. Dean stared right back until he started to feel uncomfortable, then moved his eyes up to the stars again, settling himself against the windshield once more. The crickets chirped. The wind picked up a tiny bit. Neither of them said anything.

Finally, Dean glanced at Cas. “You can sit down you know. I won’t bite.” He patted the black metal of the hood next to him.  
“I did not think you would.” Cas said, without a hint of sarcasm, and Dean had to remind himself not to laugh. But the angel sat down stiffly, regardless.  
Quiet fell once more, but it was a comfortable quiet. In fact, Dean was surprised to find that he was glad Castiel had decided to show up unannounced. He’d told Sam that he wanted to be alone, and he’d meant it. But now that the angel sat next to him, regarding the sky with his usual serious expression, Dean was more than glad for the company. 

“Do you know anything about the stars?”  
Dean’s eyes popped open at the sound of Cas’ voice. He hadn’t even noticed they were closed, which wasn’t a good sign. He rubbed them roughly and shook his head. “Too many monsters to gank, not enough time.”  
Cas nodded in understanding, then tilted his head slightly as if considering something. Dean thought it made him look strikingly like a puppy, and he smiled silently at the thought.

“Look up there Dean.” Cas instructed after a moment, pointing upwards into the darkness. “Do you see those four stars aligned in the shape of a square? They are part of the constellation called Ursa Major. Now follow that one there -yes there - follow it up and you can see a curving line of stars. I’m told you humans call it the big dipper.” As he talked, he moved his finger in careful strokes as though he were painting lines between each distant light.  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas I know what the big dipper is. Everyone knows that!” Cas looked so acutely disappointed that Dean felt a small twinge of regret. The angel was often so childlike in a way that was both endearing and frickin annoying. “Hey man, I didn’t mean it like that.” Dean insisted, gracing Cas with his most charming smile. “Teach me another one.” 

Castiel was silent for a long moment, his face drawn into a slight frown, but he finally obliged. “There. Do you see the stars in the shape of your letter ‘W’? That one is most commonly referred to to as Cassiopeia.” Dean had a harder time seeing this one, but Cas’ patient finger outlined it again and again until he could pick it out from the crowd of other stars. “Yeah yeah! I see it!” He exclaimed, immediately embarassed by the excitement in his own voice. They were only stars after all. But the angel’s proud smile made it worth it somehow.

Satisfied with his new knowledge, Dean let himself close his eyes, wriggling slightly to find a more comfortable position. One still windshield wiper pressed into the small of his back slightly but he pretended it was a hand, holding him, keeping him safe. All the sleepless nights had taken their toll, apparently. His head felt thick and fuzzy, his thoughts scrunching their way around at the speed of slugs. He wasn’t sure how long he could fight it, that hungry thing called sleep.  
“Hey Cas?” He murmured, after another stretch of quiet.  
“Yes Dean?”  
“Do angels sleep?”  
“No, angels don’t need to sleep. My Grace keeps this vessel in a suspended state, free of the need for rest or sustenance.” Cas explained matter-of-factly. “We can sleep if we so choose, but I can’t say I see the appeal. Being basically unconscious for extended periods of time just seems impractical.”  
Dean snorted softly. “Sleeping isn’t all that bad Cas. Actually it’s pretty awesome, most of the time anyway.” He had to admit that the idea of not having to sleep sounded pretty nice though. No sleep, no nightmares. That would be awesome. 

“You can sleep if you wish Dean.” Cas said, turning to look at him. His blue eyes were filled with a look that closely resembled curiosity, and Dean half wondered if the angel wanted to watch him sleep. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t shown up in his room in the middle of the night before. Dean laughed, and shook his head.  
“I’m fine. I’m not just gonna sleep while you sit there and watch. That’s weird Cas.”  
The angel just furrowed his brow slightly, his usual look of confusion, but didn’t say anything. 

Sleep, however, had other ideas. Dean was fighting it tooth and claw, but how the hell was he supposed to fight something he couldn’t pull a gun on, or at least douse with holy water? It was highly unfair. His eyelids fluttered, then gave up on him entirely and pressed closed, and he couldn’t make himself open them again. He tried to focus on something in his head, something to keep him awake, but it was pointless. Within minutes he had drifted off, one hand curled over the handle of his hunting knife, and the other resting on his chest. 

***

When Dean awoke, he was monetarily disoriented. His neck was sore, and one of his legs seemed to have fallen asleep with him. The crickets still played their two-note song in the grass, and the sound surrounded him comfortingly. He opened his eyes, blinking a little, and jerked slightly in surprise, and then embarrassment. His head was tucked neatly into the crook of the shoulder of a rather bored, but otherwise content looking Cas. Much to his horror, one of his hands was actually wrapped around the end of the angel’s blue tie.

Dean quickly sat up, releasing his grip on the tie as quickly as if it was on fire. “Sorry Cas, I...uh...didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that.” He muttered, eyes on the soft light of coming sunrise along the edge of the horizon, instead of the angel. “Why the hell didn’t you wake m up?”  
“You looked very peaceful.” Cas said simply. “I didn’t want to wake you. Sam informed me that you don’t sleep very well. I wanted to let you rest.”  
“That little bitch.” Dean murmured, reminding himself to give Sam a good punch next time he saw him. It was one thing for his brother and Bobby to know about the nightmares, but Cas...Cas was different. He hadn’t wanted the angel to know, because he already hated the way Cas always looked at him like he was in perpetual need of saving. (He was, half the time, but that was beyond the point.) “Well...uh...thanks for not killing me in my sleep or anything.” Dean said, giving Cas a small smile.

Dean couldn’t help but be struck, however, by that fact that he hadn’t had a single nightmare. No trips to hell. No watching Sammy being chopped up by angry monsters. No Cas lying in a deserted barn with an angel blade in his chest. No nothing. He could hardly remember the last time he’d slept that long without their company. It was unnerving really.

“Hey Cas, you didn’t put any weird angel sleeping mojo on me did you?” He asked suspiciously.  
“No...” Castiel replied, with his usual head tilt, and frown of confusion. “Why would I do that?”  
Dean just shook his head. “Never mind. I was just...wondering is all.” 

They fell quiet, Dean watching the sunrise, and Cas watching Dean, as if trying desperately to understand him. The wind had died down completely in the night, and the dark grass stood still against the oncoming morning. Somewhere a bird chirped piercingly. Dean was weirdly aware of the warmth of Cas’ hand, which lay next to his on the cool metal of the hood. He was struck with the bizarre urge to just grab it, but he restrained himself. _What the hell has gotten into me?_ he wondered.

When the sun finally made it’s full appearance, painting the grass all bright gold, Dean shifted with a small sigh and slid off the front of the Impala, stamping his boots a little to get the feeling back into his feet. Everything was beaded with dew, and already he could feel its dampness along the cuffs of his jeans. Cas still sat in his place, and made no move to get up. 

“Uh, Cas?” Dean ventured. “I should be going. Sam will be wondering where I am.”  
“Yes, I assume he will.” Cas agreed. The angel slid down from the hood and proceeded to study Dean for a moment, before abruptly vanishing.  
“Couldn’t manage so much as a goodbye huh?” Dean grumbled, shaking his head as he slammed the door and started the car. Sometimes he didn’t know how he put up with that ridiculous angel at all. And yet, as a faintly sagging red barn slipped past the window, Dean realized that not only had he slept the night without dreaming, but he’d also woken feeling more safe than he could remember feeling in a very long time. And that had to count for something right?


	2. Chapter 2

For a few days after the strange night with Cas, Dean was in high spirits. He told himself that it had nothing at all to with that night, or with the angel. He had probably just needed sleep. How could it be about Cas anyway? That was just plain weird.  
   
Sam gave him frowny-eyes at his sudden energy, but didn't ask questions, thank god. Dean couldn't really tell his brother he was in a good mood from sleeping with Cas. It just came out wrong no matter how he put it.  They went to check out a job in some godforsaken town in the middle of Indiana, and Dean didn't even complain when Sam changed the radio station. The job turned out easy as pie, just your average vengeful spirit, burn the bones gig. Dean was all for driving out that night, but it was late, and light rain had began to darken the gravestones dotting the sleepy cemetery, and Sam insisted they stay one more night at the motel. And so it was that Dean found himself sitting in the dark in another musty cheap room, listening to Sam's slow breathing in the bed opposite.  
   
Dean had stripped to his boxers and a t-shirt and promised an overbearing Sammy that he'd get some sleep, but who was he kidding? It wasn't going to happen. Light from a streetlamp crept in through a crack in the curtains, like a yellow cat. It left faintly ominous shadows under things, and Dean felt stupid for the slight discomfort they instilled in him. Rain fell in a steady drip drip drip on the roof, and he tried not to think about the fact that someone could sneak up on him easily without being heard. "I'm a fucking psycho." He muttered, shaking his head. 

This time when Cas showed up, Dean literally fell out of the bed. The angel stood next to the door, as if appearing in people's rooms at 2:07 in the morning was perfectly normal. "Fuck you Cas." Dean swore quietly, scrambling to his feet. "What did I tell you? You can't show up like that! I'm in my fucking boxers!"   
Cas seemed unfazed, which only annoyed Dean even more. He shoved back the blankets and climbed back into bed with a stiff precision to his movements that clearly betrayed his discomfort and frustration. "I was trying to sleep."  
Cas raised one eyebrow at that. "Dean, you were awake." He pointed out. Dean scowled. Fricken angels, man. They made everything harder. 

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, while Dean tried to figure out how to get the angel to leave without sounding like a dick. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Cas, obviously, he was just having a shitty enough night as it was, and the last thing he needed was an angel with no sense of personal boundaries and a bit too much curiosity. Finally he sighed what Sam usually referred to as his “drama queen sigh” and patted the bed next to him. He motioned with his eyes for the angel to sit down on the edge of the bed. “At least sit down if you aren’t gonna leave, you’re freaking me out just standing there staring.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he should be worried about how fast Cas complied, tucking the folds of that damn trench coat he never took off around him, and putting his feet (shoes and all) up on top of the blankets. Dean held back another sigh. Half of him still held onto the idea that the best move in the situation would be to throw the angel straight out the damn door, whether it was a dick move or not. He wasn’t feeling very patient, not to mention the fact that he was only in his boxers. Other guys weren’t supposed to see him in his boxers, and that was final. It didn’t matter that he was under the covers, Cas was definitely pushing the boundaries of creepy again.

Another part of Dean, however, seemed to be fighting against the idea quite valiantly. Another part of him, as weird as it sounded, seemed to actually want the angel there. He couldn’t get the thoroughly embarrassing image out of his head, of how things had gone last time he’d let Cas stay. The last thing he wanted was to wake up with his head on the angel’s shoulder and Sam laughing his head off. 

And yet he didn’t tell Cas to go.  
They talked quietly for a while, Dean hushing Cas when he got too loud with a pointed look at Sam who still slept peacefully in the bed opposite. They didn’t talk about anything important, and no one mentioned a thing about hunting, which was nice. Dean felt his annoyance fade pretty quickly, which seemed to be the effect Cas had on him lately. It was strange. 

At some point, Dean began to yawn a little too frequently to pull off hiding how tired he really was. He’d told Cas that he just wasn’t tired, but he could see the angel’s small frown of suspicion. That was Cas, one day he was clueless and the next he was a god damn psychic. Though Dean supposed that being able to tell someone was exhausted was hardly a superpower.

Finally he gave up trying. They had lapsed into silence again, so Dean turned to Cas, stifling another yawn. “I’m exhausted man. So, uh, it was nice to see you and all, but maybe you should go.” Dean had decided that if he was going to wake up screaming to another nightmare, then he didn’t need Cas to see him. He told himself that it was ok to be weak sometimes, but that didn't mean he believed it, and it certainly didn’t make it any less than damn embarrassing. 

Cas looked at Dean for a long moment, the small wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening. Dean sighed inwardly again.  
“Dean, I could stay and watch over you. I don’t mind.”  
“Cas, I don’t need you to watch over me. I’m just sleeping, not fighting a battle!” The funny thing was though, that the nightmares were a kind of battle in a way, a war Dean was fighting against his own head, and losing no less. But that did not, in any way at all, mean that he needed a fricken angel watching him sleep.

Cas looked disappointed. “But Dean...” He started, before Dean cut him off. “No Cas, you can’t just sit here and watch me sleep!”  
“I won’t disturb you...”  
“Yes you will! Having someone watch you sleep _is_ disturbing!”

Cas didn’t seem to get it. Dean sighed again, quite dramatically. What the hell was he supposed to do? Finally he ran a hand through his hair and said, “You know what? Fine. You can stay. But go over and sit on that chair and don’t bother me ok?” He gestured to the rickety table with two chairs pushed up against the window. Cas thankfully didn’t argue, but simply stood wordlessly to follow Dean’s instructions. He sat stiffly, looking out through a small crack in the curtain at the night. Dean watched him for a moment, before shaking his head in defeat and stretching out again.

It took Dean a while to drift off. He couldn’t see Cas when he was lying down, but he could practically feel the angel watching him in the dimness. How was he supposed to fall asleep like that? But after a time, he started to drift off anyway. Having Cas there became almost more comforting than creepy, not that he’d ever admit it. As long as he stayed in his chair and didn’t try to stand over Dean while he slept, then he supposed he was ok with it. 

The rain continued to drip on the roof in its steady pattern, and Dean’s breathing began to slow. The exhaustion was pushing down on him heavily, a weight on his chest, and he sunk down into the musty sheets gratefully. The nightmares were an enemy to be fought against at all cost, but sleep was still sweet.  
At first, Dean didn’t dream. But then a world slowly materialized around him. He stood in a forest, at twilight. It was quiet, and serene, and Dean wasn’t afraid. He could sense somehow that there weren’t any monsters nearby. He was safe. 

The sun began to set and the breeze picked up into a brisk wind. Dean shivered, and turned to look for a path or track of some sort that might lead him out of the trees. It was then that he caught sight of Cas. The angel stood some distance away outlined against the last bit of daylight, with his back to Dean. Dean smiled, and called out to him, “Hey Cas!” But the angel did not turn. Frowning, Dean pulled his jacket a little tighter around himself and started out in Cas’ direction. 

For a little while, the angel was so still that as he approached, Dean wasn’t even sure he was real. But then just as he drew close enough that he could have almost reached out and touched the fold on the back of Castiel’s trench coat, the angel turned. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, and Cas’ were so cold and lifeless that Dean stopped right there, stock still, actually afraid. And then, there was a flash of movement, like a bird crashing upwards through brush when startled, and the angel was running. 

For an instant Dean was frozen, still anchored by the terror of those dead eyes, but then he was muttering “shit, that fucking angel” under his breath, and breaking into a sprint. As he ran, the forest seemed to come alive around him. The wind tore the trees into living things that threw out arm-like branches to stop him. But Dean wasn’t fazed. Hell, he’d fought every monster in the book, and he wasn’t about to be scared off by some trees. 

But the thing that did faze him was Cas. He shouted at him to stop, pleaded in between pants, but the angel only ran faster. And no matter how hard he pushed himself, Dean hardly seemed to be gaining. And then, to his relief Dean saw that up ahead the trees were thinning out. He could see a stretch of darkening sky, just lighter than the branches in front of it. He burst out of the brush and into a stretch of dry grass that came nearly to his waist. Cas was just ahead of him, coat catching in the grass as he drove onwards.

And then, Dean saw the cliff. Not ten yards ahead of the angel, the ground dropped away into darkness below. Dean slowed, knowing that Cas would finally have to stop, and he would be able to catch him and figure out what the fuck was going on. Only Cas wasn’t slowing. If anything, he was speeding up, throwing himself towards that expanse of night. 

If Dean had any breath left he would have screamed every cuss word he knew, and some made up ones too, but he was too tired. The only thing that kept him tearing onwards, kept him alive, was the adrenaline. Every single fiber of his body burned, but dammit he was not about to let Cas jump off a fucking cliff! He threw his arms out in front of him as he ran, reaching for the ends of that grey-brown coat that flapped like a flag just beyond his finger tips. 

But he wasn’t fast enough. The air seemed to grow heavy around him, and time moved stickily slow. For a long instant Cas stood just at the edge of the precipice, trench coat still flapping in the strong wind, and arms outstretched like wings. And then before Dean could even open his mouth, the angel was falling, twisting away into the black. “CAAAAAAAAS.” The name poured out of Dean as more of a scream than a word, full of anguish and fear and confusion. And then, with a jerk he was back in the darkness of the hotel room, with the drip of the rain on the roof, his white-knuckled fingers wound tightly in the sheets and a pair of strong hands on his shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean lashed out. He hit Cas hard against the chest, catching him off guard and sending him reeling backward away from the bed with a small grunt of surprise. Dean immediately felt bad about it, but he was sweaty and shaking and the dream still hung on him like smoke, and he didn’t need the angel to see him in his weakness. Hell, he felt like crying, just curling up with his face against the wall and sobbing until he couldn’t anymore. He wished Cas would leave, dammit. He needed to bask in the pain of his own failure, that trailed with him even into his dreams.

But Cas, clueless son of a bitch that he was, approached the bed. His frown of worry made his eyes crinkle at the edges into little lines. “Dean..” He said softly, and his voice was so full of genuine concern that Dean couldn’t bring himself to turn his pain into anger again. He tried, he willed himself to punch Cas, scream at him, anything to get him to leave. But he couldn’t. Instead, Dean let out a muffled whimper and buried his face in the pillow, turning his back to the angel. 

He felt the bed shift as Cas sat down, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut and his hands clenched tightly. Thankfully, the angel was quiet, and he didn’t try to reach out and touch Dean again. For a long time they stayed like that, Cas perched on the edge of the bed with his silent, worried gaze directed on Dean, who kept himself curled up against the fear that still clawed at him. Eventually, Cas broke the silence. “Dean...are you alright?” 

Dean took a shuddering breath and rolled onto his back to look up at Cas. The angel’s eyes were still outlined with those little lines, and the corners of his mouth too. Dean meant to to say yes, that he was perfectly ok, but he found himself shaking his head. He wasn’t ok. The nightmares were breaking him.

What Cas did next surprised Dean so much that he didn’t really know how to react. The angel got calmly to his feet and took off his shoes and trench coat, laying them in a neat pile on the floor. Then he pulled back the rumpled covers and crawled into bed next to Dean. Dean stared. Cas stared back, completely unfazed. “Cas? What are you doing?” Dean asked, and his voice was shaky. 

“I’m keeping you safe Dean.” Cas said, full of his usual seriousness. And it wasn’t the least bit funny, but Dean laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh, so much a laugh of someone who has lost their grip on reality a little. Cas looked confused, but Dean just wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and shook his head in the darkness. He wasn’t even going to try to explain how completely and utterly weird the situation was.

For a while, they both lay there stiffly. Cas seemed unused to the concept of lying in bed, and Dean was just still a bit in shock from it all. They darted glances at each other, but no one moved, or made a sound. Then cautiously, Dean rolled onto his side, bridging the gap between them. And just as cautiously, Cas rolled over too, and draped one arm over Dean.

Every logical bit of Dean screamed for him to scoot away, because cuddling with guys was just not something he did. Ever. Plus he was still shaking from his run through an imaginary forest, which was seriously embarrassing. And, to add to all that Sammy was about 20 feet away, and would never, never let him live something like this down. 

But despite all that he didn’t move away. Something about the cocoon of sheets over them, and the darkness and the after-effects of the nightmare that had settled into Dean like a dull ache in his bones, made the whole thing feel safe. Nobody needed to know that Dean was cuddling with a man, an angel no less, and it wasn’t so bad really. It was just them, and the night. 

Time passed strangely as they lay there in the silence, pressed up against each other. Dean’s face was almost touching Cas’ chest, and he was surprised to find that even though he’d never once seen the angel change his clothes, he smelled good, sort of clean, and sweet almost. Dean closed his eyes with a small sigh of contentment. Sure, his current situation was weird as hell, but he was damn happy at least about the fact that Cas was alive.

Dean did not, in any way, shape or form plan on falling asleep. Lying next to Cas for a bit was one thing, but actually sleeping? Absolutely not. So when he awoke to the sound of a stifled giggle, he was completely disoriented. With a sleepy moan, he rubbed his eyes and blinked up at the figure standing over him in confusion. Sammy was holding out his phone, and grinning like he’d just won the fricken lottery. “What’s going on-” Dean started, and then with a sinking swoop in his gut, he realized where he was. 

Cas wasn’t asleep, because angel’s didn’t sleep, but he lay on his back with his eyes closed and one arm tucked under Dean. Dean had, apparently, nearly rolled on top of the angel in his sleep. “Shit.” Dean murmured in utter humiliation, and jerked away from Cas so quickly he nearly tumbled straight off the other side of the bed. Sam’s giggle had turned into a full-blown laugh. He stood with his head tilted back, and his eyes watering, laughing louder than Dean had seen him laugh in a very long time.

But it wasn’t funny. No, not funny at all. At that point Cas had opened his eyes, and was gazing back and forth between Sam and Dean. With his hair sticking up, and his face drawn into a frown, he looked for all the world like a very confused hedgehog. “Fuck you Sammy!” Dean growled, dragging a pillow straight from under Cas’ head and lobbing it at him. Sam caught it easily, still laughing. “You..guys!” He choked. “You...have to see...the pictures I took!”

Dean leapt from the bed, lunging for the phone. “Sammy, you gimme me that right now.” His voice was cold, and he meant business dammit, but Sam was laughing too hard to care. He darted away, holding the phone over his head. Dean scrambled after him, flinging his arms around Sam’s chest and dragging him onto the bed. He may have been shorter, but he was still the big brother, and he could still beat Sammy in a wrestling match any day.

Sam squirmed, still resolutely trying to keep the phone out of Dean’s grasp, even though he was pinned. Dean grunted, then snatched the phone with a triumphant “HA!” Sam sighed, scowling, but Dean could still see the grin in his eyes. Across from them on the other bed, Cas was looking on with his brows furrowed. “Dean... I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.” He said, with that little puppy dog head-tilt he did when he was lost. Dean didn’t know what to say, so he looked at the floor, and Sam had stopped laughing, and the silence that followed was more than a little uncomfortable. And to make things worse, Dean realized he was still in his boxers. 

In an attempt to escape the situation as quickly as possible, Dean grabbed his jeans and high tailed it to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Let Sammy try to explain things to Cas, because he was done with this shit. He pulled on his pants, then turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. It didn’t make him feel the least bit better. With a sigh, he straightened up, and eyed himself in the mirror. _What the hell made you think cuddling with a fucking dude angel was a good plan?_ He asked his reflection. _That was not a good plan, in case you hadn’t figured that out._ Dean sighed again, and glared at the cocky bastard in the mirror. The worst part of it all by far was, however, the fact that it hadn’t sucked. It hadn’t even been that weird, once he'd gotten comfortable. Hell, it killed him to admit it, but it had actually been...well...kind of nice. 

Dean shook his head, gave his reflection one last death glare, and stomped out of the bathroom. The curtains were open, and sunlight streamed in through the dusty windows. Sam sat on his bed, stuffing things into his duffel bag. “Where’s Cas?” Dean asked, careful to make it sound like he couldn’t care less. Sam’s pointed look upwards said it all, the guy had zapped off somewhere again. Dean wasn’t sure if he was relieved, or disappointed. He settled on relieved. That was safer. 

*******

A few hours later they were cruising down a small highway, heading back to Bobby’s. They’d taken up staying there between jobs, and Dean had to say it was pretty nice. Felt almost like they had a home to come back to. They were in prairie land, and fields of wheat stretched on for miles around, dotted with stands of cottonwood trees and the occasional sad looking windmill or silo. The clouds had cleared up in the night, and the sky stretched huge and blue above them. Everything was bright and clean, and there was good music on the radio. As long as he didn’t let his mind try to make sense of the night before, Dean was happy. Or, as happy was was possible considering the things he’d seen and done anyway. 

But of course, the peace didn’t last long. Sammy reached over and turned down the radio until it was no more than a quiet murmur, and gave Dean a very pointed look. “Dean, are you going to explain what was going on last night because -”  
“No Sammy, I’m not.” Dean glared, turning the music back up. Sam reached over and turned it right back down.  
“Dammit Sammy!” Dean swore, “Why is it always like this with you? How many times do I have to explain to you that life is not a damn chick flick! And I don’t have to explain every fucking thing I do to you!” 

Sam a little taken aback by Dean’s harsh tone, but it didn’t stop him. There was a pause, but then, “Dean, I just woke up this morning to find you cuddling with an angel. With a male angel. I’m sorry, but that sounds like chick flick material to me! And if you aren’t going to explain I’m just going to have to assume -”  
“Sammy..” Dean said, and there was warning in his tone. “I told you, we aren’t talking about this. You know it fucking wasn’t like that! It was Cas dammit! You know he doesn’t understand personal boundaries.” He turned the radio up as loud as it could go, until the scratchy sound of electric guitar filled the car to the brim.

They didn’t talk for the next hour after that, but Sam kept glancing at Dean with these smug little looks, and it was all Dean could do not to punch him.


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrived at Bobby’s that night, Dean still glaring daggers at Sam every chance he got, and Sam grinning back, they discovered that he’d made them dinner. Sure, it was frozen pizza that was a little blackened on the bottom, but hey, it was nice just the same. Plus there were beers to go round, which Dean dived on immediately. If you can’t kill something with a couple of salt rounds and a silver knife, then you drown it in alcohol right?

While they ate, Sam filled Bobby in on the details of the latest hunt. “It all went surprisingly smoothly!” He was saying, mouth full of pizza. “For once it really was just as simple as burning the bones. And Cas even stopped by for a bit to, uh, say hi.” At this, he gave Dean a wink and a very wicked grin. Dean narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need Bobby giving him a hard time too. Bobby however had obviously caught on to the fact that something was going on, because he kept looking back and forth between Sam and Dean with questioning eyes. Thank god he didn’t ask any questions though. 

They finished the rest of the meal in silence, and afterwards Dean offered to do the dishes. It was more so he could be alone for a bit than because he suddenly felt like being helpful, but no one had to know that. Bobby and Sam went out in the living room, and Dean carried the handful of plates into the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. The old radio on the windowsill was on, but it was turned down low enough as to be almost unrecognizable over the whir of an equally decrepit fan from the corner. Dean turned them both off. He needed the silence.

He took his time cleaning up, even drying the dishes and putting them away in the cupboards, something Bobby rarely did himself it seemed. When everything was sufficiently tidy, Dean grabbed another beer from the fridge (was it his fourth or fifth? He couldn’t remember,) and went to stand by the window with a sigh. The moon was out, and the clusters of cars and parts of cars looked almost like strange, sleeping animals in the silvery light. Dean thought about the times he’d go stargazing with Sam when they were kids, and how when Sam fell asleep he’d carry him to the backseat of the impala, and go back to sitting alone. He’d look up at that vastness and wonder what it would have been like if things were different. And then Dean thought about the night with Cas, a few weeks back. Why did it always come back to Cas these days?

If Dean was completely honest with himself, he had been thinking about Cas quite a bit. He complained that the angel always showed up at the worst possible times, but the truth was that he always came when Dean needed him. Somehow the guy just knew, even when Dean didn’t know it. Dean took another gulp of beer and tore his eyes away from the window. Maybe if he didn’t think about it so much, he decided, it wouldn’t seem so complicated. Cas was just a nice guy who wanted to help out, and didn’t have the best understanding of human boundaries. No need to make it into more than it was. 

*******

That night, Sam lay claim to the upstairs bedroom, leaving Dean with the couch. It was longstanding tradition that a game of rock paper scissors would determine the sleeping arrangements at Bobby’s. Dean usually won, because that was what older brothers did, but that night, perhaps from the effects of one too many beers he chose scissors when he really should have picked paper. Stupid miscalculation. 

Lights were flicked off, curtains were closed, Sam and Bobby disappeared into their rooms, and Dean stretched out on the couch. His head felt a little thick, a little slow, from the alcohol, but he didn’t want to sleep. The nightmare from the night before hadn’t been even close to the worst he’d had, and still it had shaken him. Tired or no, he wasn’t taking any chances. He’d seen enough pain and death and torture in reality, that he just couldn’t take it in his dreams too, dammit. So he lay awake, looking up at the shapes in the plaster of the ceiling, and tried not to think.

Dean had long since finished the beer he’d snagged from the kitchen, but he found Sam’s half empty bottle by the couch, so he sat up and finished that off too. He knew perfectly well that alcohol wasn’t the answer. He’d seen it eat away at Bobby, and at his Dad. He still remembered vividly the time John had come home from a failed hunt shouting and waving his damn knife around, and Dean had hidden Sam in the closet to keep him safe. Alcohol was a dark path to choose, but not so dark as hunting, Dean decided, with another swig of beer. At least it dulled the pain some. He’d been to fucking hell for god sakes, he figured he deserved a little break from his own thoughts. 

By the time Castiel showed up this time, Dean was too far gone to be surprised. He didn’t even yell at him, or tell him to piss off, he just stared at the angel blankly, with glazed eyes. “Dean?” Cas said, with that same worried voice from the night before, and Dean just kept right on staring at him, trying to remember how to form words. 

Cas’ brows furrowed, and he flicked on a lamp, before disappearing to the kitchen to return a few moments later with a glass of water. He sat down next to Dean and held it out, but Dean made no move to take it. “‘M not thirsty.” He murmured, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes.

Dean felt heavy. All he wanted was to slip away to somewhere dark and quiet, without fear of the awaiting nightmares. Disregarding his own words from a moment before, he fumbled for the flask that lay next to him on the cushions. But as he raised it, shaking a little, to his lips, Cas caught ahold of his wrist and pulled the cool metal from between his fingers. Dean opened his eyes to scowl at the angel, but he couldn’t muster the strength to protest. Even breathing felt like too much work.

Dean didn’t protest either when Cas helped him take off his shoes and jacket, setting them neatly on the floor. It made him feel like a child, but he kind of liked it. It wasn’t often that people took care of him. That was his job. When Cas told him to lie down he did so without protest, closing his eyes. The edges of his vision were blurry anyway. 

“Dean.” Cas said gently, and Dean heard the words from far away, as if he were underwater. “Dean I apologize for coming unannounced again. I know you don’t like it. But I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I’ll go now, so you can sleep.” 

Dean peeled his eyes open at that. Cas had turned off the lamp and was standing over him, almost protectively. His eyes looked very blue in the moonlight. Dean reached out, caught ahold of a fold of the angel’s trench coat, and shook his head. “Stay.” He whispered, and it wasn’t a question. Dean’s eyes were closed again before he could see Cas’ reaction, but he heard the shifting of fabric as the angel settled down on the floor beside the couch. He reached out, just to be sure, and Cas caught his hand gently, murmuring, “I’m right here Dean.” Dean sighed softly, and even though somewhere in the back of his mind something told him he wasn’t supposed to, he clung on to that hand tightly. 

As he drifted off, Dean thought he felt cool fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead, just the way his mom did, when he was small, and couldn’t sleep. When he woke the next morning though, his head ached, and the room was empty, and he was left wondering if it had all be a particularly weird dream. Needless to say, he didn’t mention any of it to Sam or Bobby.


	5. Chapter 5

Some weeks later, Dean sat on the edge of another hotel bed, trying to convince himself that this was the right decision. The fact was, that Sam was right. With the whole demon blood stint he’d pulled, and freeing freaking Satan from hell, the guy was in no shape to be out hunting. It was probably good that Sam took some time off.

But things had been ok there for a little while. They’d worked a few jobs, spent that night at Bobby’s like a real little family, and Dean had thought that everything was going to be ok. So what if he was supposed to be the vessel for some stupid angel? So what if Lucifer was out wreaking havoc somewhere? At least it had been like old times for a bit there. Just Sam and Dean and the road stretching out before them. But then Cas went off looking for his dad (which Dean knew from experience was never a good idea.) and Sam decided he didn’t want to be a hunter anymore. 

Dean had to admit that he couldn’t blame Sam. Their brief meeting with War had been pretty awful, and the way Sam had been drawn to that demon blood like it was life itself had been even worse. And so when Sammy had told him that he was out, done with hunting, going off on his own, Dean had blurted out that he agreed. He was having second thoughts.

Not trusting his brother felt like shit. Whether Sam was dangerous or not, Dean wished things were different. Because looking after Sammy was his job. It had been his job from the moment he’d carried him from their burning house all those years ago, and now he was failing him. And he hated himself for that. He’d just wanted to keep his brother safe, to be able to not worry about him constantly, but going their separate ways hadn’t really helped. Dean still worried. 

He kicked his shoes of with a grunt of frustration, feeling slightly better when they bounced roughly off the wall and landed somewhere in the corner. He took a long swig of whiskey from the bottle he’d stuck on the nightstand, then stretched out on the bed. He was just going to have to get over it, and hunt without thinking about Sammy. He didn’t need anything making him weaker. He fell asleep without even meaning to, sprawled out there on top of the blankets. His dreams were dark, but nothing bad enough to wake him.

The next day, Dean was ruthless. He dug inside himself for the hardness, channelled the cold unfeeling thing he’d become in hell, and hunted. There was a vampire in town, and by nightfall he’d killed it, and come out unscathed but for a touch of blood on his jacket, and across his cheeks. He felt powerful. He didn’t need Sammy. He didn’t need anyone. He was fucking Batman.

Of course Cas had to come along and screw everything up. Dean was just settling into his new routine as a solo hunter, washing the blood from the sleeve of his jacket in the sink and thinking about which evil son of a bitch he would get the pleasure of ganking next, when he glanced up at the mirror and nearly had a heart attack. The damn angel was standing there, not two feet behind him, just staring. “Don’t do that!” Dean growled, turning to glare angrily at Cas, who was unfazed as always.

They stood so close together, that Dean could see the light reflected in the angel’s eyes. “Hello Dean.” Was all Cas said, all gruff and calm at once, and something inside Dean cracked. Damn the angel for always showing up when he was the most broken. For a long second, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that piercing gaze, but then he forced himself to, before things got weird. “Cas, we’ve talked about this. Personal space?” He reminded him, and the angel stepped back with a quiet apology.

Turned out that Cas actually had something to do for once, rather than sit around and watch Dean sleep. He barely had time to protest before the angel was dragging him off to go talk to some angel. The poor guy was determined to find god, but Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was probably hopeless. He knew better than anyone about deadbeat Dads. 

In the car on the way to Maine they were silent for a very long time. Dean glanced over at Cas, sitting there all stoic in the passenger seat, about a million times but he never knew what to say. He turned on the radio for a while, but eventually even the good songs all started to sound the same, so he turned it off again. Finally, Dean just out and asked what had been on his mind for a while. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Did you, uh, stop by Bobby’s one night when I was pretty wasted..?” He trailed off, hoping to god, or whoever else was actually up there in heaven, that it hadn’t all been a weird fantasy. Because how the hell would he explain that? Thankfully, Cas was nodding. “Yes, I felt maybe you needed some help. I’m sorry if I was intruding. I will try to remember from now on what you said about personal space.”

Dean actually laughed in relief. He had enough shit on his plate, it was a relief to know that at least he wasn’t having weird fantasies about Cas acting like his mom. “Nah man, it’s fine. I, uh, wanted to say thanks actually. I had a little bit too much to drink.” In his head, Dean added, _And I really liked you stroking my hair._ but he managed to stop himself before he said that part out loud. That would have been awkward. 

Dean turned to look at Cas, and Cas looked back, and they both smiled at the same time. The lights of a passing truck lit the angel’s face, and for a second Dean could see past the baby in a trench coat and down to the real angel underneath. He’d always imagined angels a little more like that blond star of a Christmas themed porno he’d seen once, but now that he thought about it, Cas was actually pretty good looking. Yeah, he didn't have the tits and lacy red thong the other angel had, but his eyes were like something out of a damn fantasy book. Like the crystal pools of some elven kingdom maybe. 

After that realization, Dean looked away as fast as he could, because it was one thing for Cas to be staring at him all the time, but he wasn’t supposed to stare back. And come to think of it, he wasn’t supposed to think Cas was attractive either. He flipped on the radio and turned it up nearly as loud as it could go. But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over as Cas now and then, just to be sure he was still there.

*******

They were only about halfway to their destination when Dean was too tired to drive anymore. Despite an unhealthy amount of coffee and the loudest rock station he could find, he just couldn’t keep his eyes open. And considering Cas probably had never driven a car in his life, they stopped at a small motel in the middle of nowhere for the night. Of course it was just Dean’s luck that the only damn room that wasn’t booked for the night only had one bed. He almost snatched his money back and left, but instead he just sighed and said “We’ll take it.”

Once they got into their room, Dean was too exhausted to do much more than toss his bag on the floor, kick off his shoes and jacket, and crawl gratefully under the covers. He didn’t even bother brushing his teeth. It was only after he’d settled in with a contented sigh that he remembered Cas. 

The angel stood near the door, looking a little lost. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?” Dean asked with a yawn.

“I suppose so, if that would make you more comfortable Dean.” Cas replied, his face a mask of utter seriousness. Dean snorted. Lessons in personal space wasn’t the only thing Cas needed. Hell, the guy could do with some lessons in life. “No Cas, I don’t want you to stand there all night.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Then what do you want me to do?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer that, and then realized he was in a very tricky situation. Because if he wanted Cas to lie down with him, he was going to have to ask for it. And fuck if that didn’t go against everything he’d ever learned. _I’m not gay for god sakes! I’m not asking a guy to get in bed with me!_ He told himself. But then he realized that he’d already fallen asleep on Cas twice. “Just...get over here dammit.” Dean said gruffly, patting the bed next to him, and Cas obeyed wordlessly. 

All was quiet, save the soft tick tick tick of the vintage clock that hung above the bed, and then, “Hey Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“You could take off that trench coat you know. It doesn’t look very comfortable to sleep in.”

“Okay.” There was a shuffling in the darkness as Cas wriggled out of his coat and dropped it to the floor. Then he was still for a moment, as if considering, before he sat up and slowly took of his shoes, and then his tie. For some reason, that simple gesture, the tie coming off, made Dean feel a little dizzy. And that scared him, because it wasn’t the I’m-freaked-out-by-this kind of dizzy, but more of the that-was-weirdly-attractive dizzy. He didn’t know what to do with the feeling, so he pressed his eyes closed tightly, and swore he wouldn’t let himself look at Cas. But then things just got weirder. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You could take off your pants if you like. I know you prefer to sleep without them.” At that, Dean’s eyes jerked open, and he glared at Cas. It was a very serious glare, because first of all, the angel wasn’t supposed to know what he liked to wear to bed, and second of all, he definitely wasn’t supposed to have felt the shock of warmth that shot down his body at those words. He was not allowed to be turned on by Cas telling him to take his pants off. The thing Dean knew how to do best was fight, so he fought those feelings valiantly. “Dammit Cas, don’t tell me to take my fucking clothes off! That’s messed up.” He growled, and then turned his back to the angel and closed his eyes. 

The tension that filled the space between them was thick. It hung in the air like it was a palpable thing, pressing against Dean’s back. He ached for Cas to say something, to break through that thickness, but the angel was still. In the dark there, the cold that Dean had drawn up inside him suddenly seemed like too much. All the blood on his hands that he could never wash away. It was suffocating him. He needed, desperately, to hear Sammy’s soft breathing, but his brother was gone, and Cas was so still he was as good as gone too. 

Dean turned then, with a fierceness born of fear and hate, and grabbed at Cas’ shirt the way he’d held the shirt of the vampire he’d killed only the night before. He dragged the angel against him, dipped his face to Cas’ neck, unsure if he wanted to kiss him, or bite him. He couldn’t even see anything, because the fucking darkness was inside him, as much as around him.

The angel’s arms came around him, somehow both hesitant and strong, and Dean settled for simply breathing heavily, his nose against the warmth of Cas’ skin, his hands still clutching the smooth fabric of his shirt. Dean realized that he was shaking again, and half of him wanted to pull away both because he was embarrassed, and because he’d fucking tortured people and enjoyed it, which meant he hardly deserved to be taken care of. He didn’t deserve an angel. But he let Cas hold him anyway, because he wasn’t strong enough to pull away. 

Cas’ breath was warm and soft in his hair, and it slowly calmed Dean into sleep. As he drifted off, he silently thanked God, wherever the bastard was, for sending him Cas.


	6. Chapter 6

When Dean woke the next morning, he woke slowly. It was as if he was swimming underwater, and he could see the daylight up there dancing on the surface, but he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to come up. He was very warm, and very comfortable, and the idea of opening his eyes sounded pretty terrible. Hell, he was so cozy he could have stayed right there all day. 

Dean made a sound that was somewhere between a grumble and a moan, and peeled his eyes open. He was met with the sight of a strip of skin, and a row of white buttons not two inches from his face. He blinked. Cas was still holding him, just like he had been the night before, though their legs were a bit more tangled, and Dean’s grip on the angel’s shirt had loosened. 

Dean knew he should pull away. Its the only logical thing to do when you wake up cuddling with your best friend, who’s also a guy and an angel for the second time in two months. Only Dean didn’t. What he did was snap his eyes closed again, and pretend he was asleep. No one could blame him for tucking himself just a little closer to Cas if he was asleep! Dean knew his logic was seriously flawed, but apparently so was his head, because first he’d had a little mental breakdown there, and now he just wanted to get cozy with an angel. Cas, however, wasn’t falling for any of Dean’s bullshit, because he said, in a gentle voice, “Dean, I know you’re awake.” 

At that, Dean had to pull away. With a sigh, he said, “‘Morning Cas.” Then crawled out from under the covers and locked himself in the bathroom to think about things. Wake up next to Cas, get up quickly, hide in the bathroom. It was practically becoming a ritual.

After the cocoon of warmth he’d been curled up in in bed, the bathroom felt freezing. Dean wrapped his arms around himself and shivered slightly. _What the hell was up with me last night?_ he wondered worriedly, peering at himself in the mirror. He had been terrified, and Dean Winchester did not scare easily. He’d killed demons with his bare hands, fended off ghosts with fire pokers, and he’d hardly batted an eyelash. So why had he suddenly felt all that darkness and pain? Sure he knew it was in there, but he usually did a pretty damn good job of keeping it locked up. It scared him just thinking about it. He decided he needed to toughen up. Letting himself get all cuddly with Cas was making him weak. Cas was the problem here. 

He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath and headed back out into the room. He found Cas standing in front of the full length mirror, holding one end of his tie in each hand with a very perplexed look on his face. “Forgot how to tie your tie huh?” Dean asked, smiling slightly as he pulled on a boot. Cas may have been the one currently dragging him down into somewhere nearly as bad as the hell he'd saved him from, but he sure managed to look good doing it. Dean berated himself instantly for that train of thought, and tied his first boot with a harsh ferocity. 

“I’ve never taken it off before.” Cas said. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t.” He turned to look at Dean with such an acute expression of sadness on his face that Dean had to stifle a laugh. “Hey man, no need to cry over it. I’ve got your back. Hold on.” He pulled on his second boot, tied it sloppily and went over to where Cas stood. He put his arms around the angel from behind, because he didn’t know how to tie a tie backwards, and instructed “Alright watch what I do ok? It’s hardly like blowing up the Death Star or anything.” Cas looked perplexed, as always, and Dean rolled his eyes. 

Cas watched as Dean walked him through each step. Dean messed it up twice though, because for some reason his proximity to the angel, the warm back against his chest and the way Cas shivered when Dean’s hand accidentally grazed the bottom of his chin, it was making his head fuzzy. He reminded himself countless times that he was just helping a friend tie his tie, but the moment felt ridiculously intimate. _Like the scene in a movie leading up to the first kiss,_ Dean thought, and immediately wished he hadn’t. What if Cas could hear his thoughts as well as his prayers? He sincerely hoped he couldn’t. But when Dean was finished, and Cas cupped a hand over his and murmured “Thank you Dean.” he knew the angel heard his sharp intake of breath.

*******

In the car they talked, about heaven, and the future, and movies that Dean loved and Cas had never seen, but neither of them brought up the night before, and for that Dean was immensely grateful. Cas kept pointing out that they could get there so much quicker if Dean would only let him zap them there, but Dean wasn’t having it. He’d joked about something stupid like the angel mojo making him have trouble pooping, but Cas had just frowned. 

The reality of it was that Dean liked driving because his car made him feel safe. The Impala, his Baby, was his home. He’d had his first kiss in that car, taught Sammy to drive in that car, slept in it when there wasn’t money for a hotel. At almost every pivotal moment in Dean’s life, his precious car had been nearby. But Cas wouldn’t have understood all that, so Dean stuck with the jokes, which hardly got a better response. Oh well. At least the guy had agreed to let him drive.

When they pulled into town it was late afternoon, and the air was cold. Cas directed him to a police station, where apparently a sheriff or deputy or something had supposedly seen the angel they were looking for, Raphael. They questioned him, Dean sounding professional and Cas sounding like he’d come straight from the looney bin, but hey, they got the information they needed without too much trouble. They stopped by the hospital to take a look at Raphael’s abandoned vessel, and Dean decided he felt pretty bad for the poor guy. 

That evening, they found an abandoned house to hole up in, after Cas insisted that whatever ritual he was planning to summon the angel had to take place at dawn. Dean had always had mixed feelings about staying in empty houses. Mostly he liked it, because there was more space, and more privacy, and sometimes he’d get a room to himself for a night or two. It was definitely a plus to be able to jack off now and then, without having to hide in the shower. But another part of Dean found these old houses terribly sad. All the scrapes on the floor, or pictures still crooked on the walls, or the old fur coat he’d found hanging in a closet once, were all memories of a life that had moved on. But mostly it just made him sad to think that when he and Sammy were gone, nothing would be left to show they’d once lived. Except maybe Baby, but it wasn’t the same.

This particular house had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and electricity that miraculously still worked, at least on the main floor. They kept most of the lights off though, since there was no need to get caught and thrown in jail for breaking and entering. They tossed their stuff in a heap by the door, and once Dean had finished exploring, he came back downstairs to find the kitchen empty. He turned to go check the living-room, but Cas chose that time to materialize in front of him, holding what looked like a very old version of the thing Ellen used to keep her salad dressing in.

Turned out, it was. Or rather, it was some magical holy oil all the way from Jerusalem that could supposedly trap angels the same way a devil’s trap can hold a demon. Dean still thought it looked like salad dressing though. He made a joke about it, but as was usually the case, Cas wasn’t particularly amused. In fact, the angel looked downright somber. At first, Dean wasn’t sure why, because they had a house and a whole night free and everything seemed to be going according to plan, but with a few questions, Dean figured it out. Cas didn’t think he was going to make it. The poor guy thought it was his last night on earth, and Dean did the only thing he knew to do, which was to ask how Cas wanted to spend it. 

Of course that lead to the topic of sex (yes, it might have been Dean who brought that one up, I mean, what else was a guy supposed to do on his last night on earth?) and Dean was brought to light on the fact that not only was Castiel an angel of the lord, but he was also a virgin. That shocked him so much, that for a moment he could only stare, with his eyes wide and his mouth open. Because who wouldn’t want to bang an angel? “You mean to tell me you’ve never been up there doing a little...cloud seating?” He asked incredulously.

“I’ve never had occasion, ok?” Cas said, and Dean couldn’t quite tell if he was indignant or embarrassed. Dean just shook his head. It was pretty much beyond his comprehension. The guy had been alive for what? A couple thousand years? It was a tragedy that Dean decided needed to be fixed. And so he pulled on his coat, grabbed his keys, and took Cas to find some prostitutes.

*******

Let’s just say, things didn’t quite go as planned. What with one thing or another Dean ended up back in the Impala with Cas, driving away from a very angry prostitute and a couple of mean looking security guards. He was laughing so hard he could barely breath. “Dammit Cas!” He choked, “You can’t even get it on with a prostitute? That is bad, that is real bad.” 

“I just...”

“Yeah yeah I know, you said something about her dad.”

“I didn’t think her father had anything to do with sex.” Cas said, his eyes all squinty with confusion again. Dean just shook his head, and laughed and laughed until his chest hurt and his eyes watered. Cas’ face even broke into a small grin just looking at him, and Dean was struck with how good he felt. He was happy. Completely happy. “You’re so damn innocent I could kiss you Cas.” He giggled as he pulled up to their house for the night, and then he stopped laughing very suddenly, realizing what he’d just said.

Cas looked at him, and his gaze was so intense and so serious that he couldn’t look away. “I...uh...” Dean stumbled for the words, desperate to explain that he hadn’t meant it like that, but the angel didn’t look worried. “Dean.” He said gently, and somehow, that one soft word sent a shiver through Dean’s entire body.

“Cas.” Dean said, and it came out very small, because Dean had remembered why they’d ventured out in the first place. Cas was going to die. Cas was going to get torn into a million pieces and scattered who knows where, and Dean was going to be alone. His parents were gone, Sam off somewhere, and now Cas was going to be gone too. “Cas I don’t want you to go.” He blurted, looking down at his hands.

“Dean, I’m right here.” Cas said, with the faintest of frowns.

“You know what I mean!” Dean didn’t mean to snap, but it came out angry anyway. Cas looked taken aback. “Dean, this is unavoidable. I must try to find God so I can fix this mess and put Lucifer back in the cage where -”

“Fuck all of that!” Dean yelled, slamming his fist down on the dashboard so hard that the angel flinched. “Fuck heaven, fuck hell, fuck all of it! I’m tired of losing everything and everyone I care about! I try to save people, but all I do is get knocked down again and again. And the one thing I was ok at, keeping Sammy safe, well guess what? I failed at that too. And now he’s gone! You shouldn’t have saved me Cas. I deserve to be in hell!” His voice broke a little and he stopped, trying to catch his breath. His throat felt thick like he was going to cry, but he didn’t let himself. 

Cas didn’t say anything. He looked at Dean, with all his seriousness, and Dean looked at the steering wheel, because he just couldn’t look at those eyes. And then, he felt a hand on his cheek. Cas’ fingers were surprisingly warm, and Dean turned to look at him. Those blue eyes were fierce, hard almost, and he said, “Dean, don’t every say that again. Do you know what it was like, when I rescued you from hell? It was like I was on fire. Every particle of my being was burning. It was pure agony. And the darkness was so heavy I felt like I would never be free. But your soul shone, and I clung to that brightness and pulled you free. And every moment of pain was worth it Dean. You were worth it all.” 

And then, it was almost as if no time passed before Dean’s lips were pressed against Cas’. There was no thought behind it, no consideration. He kissed the angel with a ferocity that burned inside him. He was like a hungry animal, desperate and ruthless and strong. At first, Cas was frozen, unmoving in surprise, but slowly he began to press back against Dean, his other hand finding it’s way into his hair. Dean made a strange sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and clung to Cas’ coat so tightly his knuckles turned white. The only thing Dean could think, past the beating of his own heart, and Cas’ breath on his tongue, was that Sammy was right. Chick flick moments were underrated.


	7. Chapter 7

When Cas didn’t die the next morning, or the next evening either, Dean began to worry about the kiss. He’d written it off as a desperate attempt to say goodbye, because as anyone who knew him would tell you, Dean Winchester was good at plenty of things (most of those involving either killing things, or picking up chicks) but he’d never been good with words. He could joke and insult and reference pop culture all the way to next Thursday, but when it came to the hard words, the real words, he panicked.

So when Cas returned to heaven the next day, and Dean was alone again, that kiss haunted him. It followed him home after hunts like a stray dog, wound its way into every still hotel room, and sat there, watching as he tried to sleep. Even when he attempted to watch porn the damn thing wormed its way into his head, until all he could think about was Cas, and the smell of him and the taste of him, and the way he’d gripped Dean’s hair. He’d slam the laptop closed every time, because dammit he couldn’t jack off to blue eyes and his name on Cas’ tongue.

Dean decided that it was just his luck that he had to deal with some sort of identity crisis and the freaking impending apocalypse at the same time. If he didn’t know for a fact that God was missing in action, he would have been sure the bastard was just up there laughing at him. But despite whatever disturbing problems were going on in his head, Dean shouldered on, because that’s what he always did. If he wasn’t letting the apocalypse scare him, then he didn’t need to freak out about Cas either. But then Dean woke up in 2014, and things got even weirder. 

*******

It happened like this; Dean went to sleep one night, safely in the correct year in a comfortably crappy hotel room like always, and woke up somewhere else entirely. The smell of dust woke him. When he sat up, blinking in confusion, it rose up around him in clouds from the bedspread. It coated the floor like a fine layer of grey-brown snow, and clung to the peeling wallpaper on the walls. 

“What the fuck?” Dean muttered to himself, checking his pockets instinctively for a weapon. Finding his knife there, he decided the best plan of action was to figure out where he was. He would have felt better with a gun, and maybe some backup from Sam, but a knife was better than nothing right? 

The street outside was in complete disarray. Shattered glass littered the pavement, street signs had been ripped from their poles, and cars were flipped upside down. From the broken window of one old jeep a piece of torn plaid flannel flapped like a dejected flag, and Dean drew in a sharp breath, thinking again of his brother.

He headed West. Or maybe it was South. Dean really had no idea. Everything was so eerily quiet that his footsteps echoed off the brick and cement of storefronts as he walked. A traffic light up ahead flicked silently from red to green. Without the rush of cars, it was strangely lonely. He walked down the very center of the street, trying to imagine he was the hero from some sort of post-apocalyptic action movie, but it didn’t make him feel particularly badass. The stillness instead made Dean feel kind of uncomfortable after a while, so he started humming to himself. Metallica was calming, whatever Sam said. But of course it meant that he almost didn’t hear the small scuffle coming from an alley to his left.

Most people wouldn’t have gone to investigate. Any logical person knows that you don’t go down a dark alley in a post-apocalyptic city full of smashed cars and abandoned buildings. It’s just common sense. But then again, Dean wasn’t most people. No one had taught him to be afraid. He had grown up knowing only how to fight and protect. And now that Sammy was gone he didn’t have anyone to protect, so fighting was all he had left.

Dean’s hand slipped into his jacket and around the smooth handle of the knife as he stepped into the shadows. He might have been a little bit careless, but he wasn’t stupid. At least not all the time. He walked a block and turned left into an even creepier alley. The buildings on either side rose up four stories at least, and the light that filtered down to him was dim. The dirty walls were decorated with graffiti, and the stains of a life Dean didn’t want to think about. The scuffling grew louder, and he braced himself as he took careful steps towards the sound. 

If it was a vampire, Dean wouldn’t have blinked an eye. Demons wouldn’t have bothered him much either. But he wasn’t expecting a little kid. She couldn’t have been more than seven, and she sat in the middle of the road with her head down, playing idly with a piece of twisted metal. It was making a terrible grating sound against the cracked pavement, but she didn’t seem bothered by it, even when it made Dean wince slightly. 

Dean tucked the knife away again, no need to freak the kid out. “Hey, little girl, are you ok?” He called. She didn’t move, but for her fingers, which kept fiddling with the metal in her hands. The movement was mindless and constant and more than a little bit creepy. Dean took a step closer and leaned down. Something was definitely up with the kid, but hey she was alone in a smashed city, so Dean was hardly surprised. 

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. See?” He held out his hands. Still, the girl didn’t react. Dean scowled. He liked to think he was pretty good with kids. Sam was hopeless, but Dean could always get them to like him. Maybe it had something to do with how awesome he was, but mostly it probably had to do with how he’d grown up. He knew how to be a parent when he needed to.

“Hey-” He started again, and she looked up. Her eyes were white and lifeless. Her skin was like paper, pale and almost translucent. A small line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth and down her chin. Dean jerked back so fast he almost fell. “Shit!” He swore, scrambling up. She was more than a little not ok. She growled, a low sound that came from somewhere deep inside her tiny body, and Dean felt a shiver snake up his spine. Dean Winchester was not afraid, thank you very much, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to get away from the kid as fast as humanly possible. 

He took a few careful steps backwards. Her dead eyes followed him, but she didn’t move. “Yeah, you just stay right there.” He cautioned, still backing away, silently cursing whoever or whatever had thrown him into this terrible place. He was getting pretty damn tired of people messing around with him. 

Perhaps it was instinct, or some slight change in the air, but Dean turned just in time to see the four men come into the alley behind him. They walked weirdly, as if they couldn’t quite summon the strength to lift their feet more than the tiniest bit above the ground. But what Dean noticed more than the men was the word scrawled behind them, blood red on the crumbling brick. Croatoan. Dean squinted for a second, trying to figure out why that word seemed familiar. When it hit him, he swore, and then swore again, just for good measure. “Zombies? You have got to be kidding me!”

Then, he ran. 

One thing that was always good about being a hunter was that you had to know how to run. It was like poker, if you wanted to go with the overused analogy of holding and folding; you had to know when to stand and fight, and when to get the hell out of there. Dean wouldn’t say he liked running exactly, but with a pack of zombies behind him (the four men and the kid had apparently summoned their friends) it was surprisingly easy. He no longer cared that the thud of each boot sent out echoes. He didn’t even care where he was going. All he knew was that he was not going to die without seeing Sammy again. Or Cas, for that matter. 

The zombies had seemed plenty slow back in the alley, but when Dean dared a glance backwards they were gaining on him rapidly. He would have thrown out a few more choice curse words, but he was too out of breath. The shattered glass on the road was slippery, and Dean couldn’t stop imagining himself falling, skidding through the shining shards until he was too bloody to stand, and then having his brains ripped out by the zombies. That was what zombies did didn’t they? Dean didn’t really know. 

Despite the kiss, or perhaps because of it, Dean decided that maybe this would be a good time to find the breath for a prayer to Cas. Not to mention the fact that the street he was sprinting down was about to end in a very tall, chain link fence. The kind with barbed wire on the top. Yeah, definitely time to pray. 

“Cas, buddy!” Dean panted, “I... could use a little... help. I don’t know where I am... but if you could just... get down here and zap me out pronto... that would be pretty great!” He skidded to a stop in front of the gate, and spun to face the oncoming mob. 

Like the girl back in the alley, the scattered group of zombies bearing down on him all had those terrible dead eyes. Dean was not a girl from a romance novel, and he hardly spent his time noticing peoples eyes when there were more important things to look at. But these eyes were impossible not to notice. Everything but the pupils were white, and even they were more of a milky grey than black. 

Dean took a deep breath. He wasn’t afraid of death, he’d been to hell and back after all, but he’d always imagined it would be a little more, important somehow. Going down to the pit had saved Sammy at least. Getting ganked by zombies while saving a whole town would be acceptably awesome, but here he was completely alone. Dying wouldn’t do anyone any good. He pressed himself against the cold metal squares of the fence, and was surprised to feel them give. He spun, and found that along one pole the links had been torn back to make a small hole. 

Grinning in relief, Dean wriggled through and turned to give the approaching zombies a good view of his middle finger. “Haha suckers! I’m not dead yet!” He yelled, and turned to go, only to be nearly run over by a frickin tank. Why did it seem to be one thing after another these days?

Dean veered to the left and into an empty lot as the tank opened fire on the zombies. He didn’t stay to watch. The yellow-brown grass came almost to his waist, but Dean tore through it as a fast jog. He needed to get somewhere familiar, so he could try to get a grip on what the hell was happening. He figured that if this was time travel, he could still get to Bobby’s somehow. Bobby never went far from his books and beer, and Dean didn’t think any amount of zombies would be able to get past that collection of rifles and death traps. Future or no, Dean assumed Bobby would be sitting in his living room with a bottle of whiskey and a book of ancient mythology like always. And Bobby would know what to do. Bobby always knew what to do.

It took Dean almost four hours to find a car that had gas and wasn’t either completely crushed, or flipped upside down. By that time he was so thirsty he was almost tempted to drink the leftovers from a bottle in the gutter, but he held himself back. Dean decided he was never going to let himself get that bad. If he could escape zombies he could deal with being a little thirsty. 

The car wasn’t nearly as smooth or sexy as his Baby, but it ran, and thats all that really mattered. Dean flipped on the radio as he sped down a deserted road towards the falling night, but all he could find was static. No classic rock for the apocalypse apparently, or anything else for that matter. No radio meant that things were pretty damn bad. The radio was always there. He sighed and turned it off again.

It was in the quiet of the car, with the night coming on, and trees standing like sentinels along the edges of the highway, that Dean started thinking about Cas again. Was the angel there, (wherever there was) with him? Could Cas hear his prayers, and had just chosen to ignore him when he’d been about to be zombie burgers, or was he in another dimension entirely? Or maybe the angel wasn’t even alive in the future. Dean didn’t want to think about that.

As Dean drove, the moon rose up ahead of him. In its silvery white light, everything seemed even more empty and sad. He almost missed the tired looking semi-trucks passing him in the other direction, the hitchhikers he knew from experience not to pick up, the roadside bars with their bright lights. He missed the way headlights and street lamps would light up Sam’s sleeping face in stripes when it got late and he fell asleep while Dean drove. 

From the road signs as he left the city and headed out into dark fields and stands of trees, Dean determined he was close enough to Bobby’s that he could get there by morning, so long as he didn’t stop. He sped up slightly. The road ahead of him was dead straight, and sunk into the ground so that the lightly waving grass and wheat on either side stood against the sky. It was as if someone had taken a huge knife, cut a long gash in the skin of the earth, and called it a highway. 

After about an hour, it was the quiet more than anything that tore at Dean. The radio was out (he tried turning it on four more times, always with no luck) and there wasn’t even a single damn tape or CD in the glove box. He tapped his fingers against the wheel and pretended he was listening to complicated guitar riffs, but it didn’t help. The damn silence was so heavy Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe. Finally he couldn’t take it. 

“Hey, uh Cas? I don’t know if you can hear me, but I just wanted to say...” He trailed off, thinking. What did he want to say? “I just wanted to say that if you can’t get me out of this place I understand. But..um...could you look after Sam for me? If I don’t get out you know...?” He licked his lips and laughed nervously. He had never been one for praying, and he felt kind of stupid just talking to an empty car. But it made him feel a little better too somehow. “Oh and Cas?” He added, “I need to tell you that I...uh..” 

“He can’t hear you, you know. So save your proclamations of love for some other time.” The voice came from right next to Dean, and he nearly swerved off the road in the process of jerking his head around to look. The bastard angel Zachariah sat in the passenger seat, regarding him with the self satisfied smile of someone who enjoys shocking people into nearly killing himself. “By the way, how are you liking 2014?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean spluttered, his voice low with a mixture of surprise, and anger. “You brought me here didn’t you, you son of a bitch!” 

At that, Zachariah’s smile widened, and he bowed slightly. “Why yes, that was me. You never were the brightest Dean, so I figured if I wanted to get you to say yes to Michael, I was going to have to teach you a lesson.” When Dean only glared, he continued, “This is what the future looks like if you decide to keep saying no.”

“Bring me back!” Dean said, still glaring. He’d been, admittedly, a little hopeful when he’d discovered that angels existed, but they’d all turned out to be dicks. Maybe they couldn’t outright possess him the way a demon could, but they were manipulative and thoughtless and cruel just the same. “I’m not letting your fucking brother use me as a meat suit, and throwing a bunch of zombies at me won’t change that. You might as well just let me go.”

Zachariah just smiled. The asshole was obviously having quite a nice time with it all. You'd think angels would be a little more godly, or whatever. Wasn't there something in the bible about manipulation by forced time travel being a sin? Dean hadn't actually read much of the bible, but he thought that would be a good addition, if it wasn't in there. He'd have to have a talk with the church. “Dean, I’m afraid I can’t do that. You only just got here! Have some fun!” He patted Dean’s arm, and Dean jerked away. “Oh, and if you’re heading to Bobby’s? Don’t. He isn’t there. Just a tip.” With that, the angel disappeared, leaving in his wake a very pissed off Dean.

“You get back here you bastard and tell me what you meant about Bobby!” He yelled at the empty passenger’s seat, but deep down he knew it was no use. Glowering, he stomped on the gas, watching the speedometer inch up past 90. The old car rattled dangerously, but it felt good. Too good. 

*******

It turned out, much to Dean’s frustration, that Zachariah had been right. He found Bobby’s house cold and empty. Most of the books were still on their shelves, and there were pictures on the walls, but the cupboards had been stripped bare. Dean walked through every room, even the guest bedroom upstairs, but there was nothing. No Bobby and no one else either. He was about to leave when he finally thought to check the secret niche behind the center stone of the fireplace. Ever since the time he’d seen Bobby stuffing something in there when he’d snuck down the stairs at night once when he was about twelve, Dean had kept an eye on the secret spot. Bobby kept all sorts of small things there, from pictures of his wife to cash. This time, however, there was only one slim, slightly yellowed photograph.

Dean picked it up gingerly. It was slightly dusty, so he knew that Bobby hadn’t opened the niche in quite sometime. It was him and Sam. In the photo they were young, Sammy couldn’t have been more than five, and they stood on top of a rusty old car. Dean had an arm around his brother, and Sammy was grinning, and proudly holding up a wrench and a hammer. 

Dean swallowed. He remembered that day. Dad had dropped them off at Bobby’s and disappeared for the third time that month, and Sam had been heartbroken. Bobby had finally given in and let them help him out with the cars. Sam had smiled so big when Dean hoisted him up onto the roof of one that was too rusty to be fixed, that Dean still remembered it. They’d sat up there just watching the clouds until the sun went down, and Bobby came back to drag them inside.  
Dean smiled a little sadly. “Dammit Sammy.” He murmured, shaking his head. He was just going to slip the photo into his pocket, when he caught sight of the writing on the back. It was a note, in Bobby’s usual scrawl, addressed to Sam. 

_Sam,_  
_I know that Dean and I weren’t all that understanding of your decisions, and I still think you were wrong to agree to Lucifer like that, but if you come back here, if you break free of all that somehow, then get your sorry ass down here to Camp Chitaqua . No matter what you’re still family, and I won’t let your brother give you too hard of a time. Dammit I’m no good at letters, just don’t forget who you were, before all of this. You’re a good man Sam._  
_Bobby_

Dean stared at the small square in his hand and tried to figure out what the hell had happened. Sam had said yes to Lucifer? That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t like Sammy at all. Yeah, sure, he’d gotten a little into that demon blood kick, but that didn’t mean he would suddenly decide he wanted the freaking devil inside of him! That would be like going from taking one little sip of beer to chugging whole bottles of vodka. “You are fucking going to pay for this shit Zachariah!” Dean muttered angrily, before shoving the photo into his pocket and heading for the door. At least he knew where to find Bobby. He would just have to drive to that Camp whatever and demand an explanation. It was a shitty plan, but it was better than nothing. And at least for the first time in weeks he had something to distract him from his thoughts of Cas.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Dean most of the day, and three maps that weren’t very helpful to find Camp Chitaqua. He missed Sam with his laptop that always seemed to have wifi more than ever. He drove down countless random dirt roads, and nearly got stuck in multiple potholes. When he finally saw the big carved wooden sign staked between two trees, he whooped with joy and drove the car straight into a ditch in his excitement. 

Dean didn’t bother trying to back out. He just grabbed his jacket and his knife and left the car where it was, slamming the door for good measure. He was going to meet up with Bobby, and figure things out, and the prospect put him in a pretty good mood, considering his circumstances.

The road leading past the sign and into the forest was narrow and rocky, and was cut off by a gate. Snaking off into the trees on either side was a tall, chain link fence, not unlike the one he’d wriggled through in his escape from the zombies. It was obviously meant to keep the unwanted out, but Dean was undaunted. The gates were only held closed with a length of chain and a padlock, hardly top notch security, especially for someone who’d broken just about every possible kind of lock like Dean had.

It took fifteen minutes and and few muttered “shits,” but in the end, Dean got the lock opened with a piece of wire he'd yanked from the bottom of the fence, and slipped through the gate. Like everywhere Dean had been so far, the road was very quiet. The late afternoon sun shone in slanting rays between the trees, and it would have been beautiful, if Dean wasn’t so tired and hungry and thirsty and just generally done with everything. His sole interest was finding Bobby, and finding some beer, and he didn’t have time to appreciate any damn sunsets on the way. He couldn't help wondering, however, how many people were left. Everywhere he'd been so far had been eerily silent and empty.

He walked quickly, and kept a sharp lookout for anything moving in the bushes along the road, but save for a few birds, everything was still. Ever since the city Dean had been on edge, ready for more zombies, but so far, he hadn’t even seen one at a distance. After so much quiet, he decided he’d almost welcome a couple, just to give him to something to think about besides...well...everything _else_. There was Sam and Cas and the freaking apocalypse, all of which made zombies sound a whole lot better.

The road wound past a small and rather marshy pond, and then up a hill. The air smelled fresh, and Dean wondered if maybe he would have taken up hiking, if he wasn’t a hunter. He decided he wouldn’t be able to take all the quiet. It was a hard place to be, always struggling to find the right words to fix things, the words that would take the things he’d broken and hold them up to safety, but always sliding into the silence. And being afraid of that silence, almost as much as the words. It was like being trapped, it was like a torture that even Azazel wouldn’t have dreamed up. Dean ran a hand through his hair and wished he had something to drink, before the stillness swallowed him.

When he reached the top of the hill, the road flattened out again and opened up into a sort of field that was scattered in a handful of small log cabins. Dean sighed in relief, and sped up slightly. At least twenty people were moving about between the buildings, or sitting on the grass talking. From that distance Dean didn’t recognize anyone, but they seemed to be men and women and maybe even a few kids. If it weren’t for the fortified army jeeps parked in a row in front of what looked like the main cabin, and the handful of men holding shotguns, Dean would have mistaken the whole thing for a regular summer camp out.

As he neared the line of vehicles, making sure to put on his best “I’m-not-a-zombie” face, he caught sight of something that made his heart leap. It was his Impala! He rushed to it, running his fingers along the once shiny black paint that was now rusted and flecked with mud. The door on the drivers side was halfway smashed in, and one headlight was gone entirely. “I’m so sorry Baby!” He murmured, “I should have been here to take care of you."

Still trailing his fingers along the dirty metal, Dean rounded the front of the car, and slammed straight into someone coming the other way. “Uh, sorry-” He started, and then stopped abruptly, because the guy glaring back at him was...well _him_. Or, at the very least it was someone who looked exactly like him, or maybe a shape shifter. He should have gone for his knife more quickly, but before he could so much as blink, a fist collided with the side of his head, and all he could see was a flash of the darkening sky, and then blackness.

*******

When Dean awoke, he was groggy, his back was stiff and his head ached. The first thing he wondered, was why he was still alive. No respectable shape shifter would bring him back to its hideout just to look at him. He was slumped against the leg of an old table, and it pressed into his shoulders uncomfortably. He went to rub his eyes, but found, much to his annoyance, that he was handcuffed. He groaned, and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. 

The room was dim, with rough wooden walls and curtains drawn over the windows. Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but it was obviously night. A small lightbulb hung from the ceiling, lighting the center of the room but leaving the edges in deep shadow. So when Dean watched himself materialize from a corner and stand over him, he jumped in surprise.

With his pounding head it took him a minute to work things out, be he eventually decided that the guy standing over him _was_ him. Future him. However, Future Dean didn’t seem like he’d come to the same conclusions, because though he was obviously going to pains to appear as if he just casually had his hands in his pockets, Dean could see the outline of a small knife there. Hell, he wasn’t going to be tricked by his own moves. He’d never realized he was that painfully obvious though. Dean made a mental note to practice being a little more sneaky with his weapons in the future ( _or was it the past?_ )

“What are you?” Future Dean’s voice was cold, no hint of emotion in those three simple words.

“I’m, uh, you.” Dean replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Future Dean was nonplussed.

“That’s ridiculous. Last time I checked, there was only one of me."

“Well, guess you better check again, because now there are two of us. But hey, two of us means twice the action with the ladies right?” Dean grinned hopefully. Future Dean’s face did not change. Not even the hint of a smile. _Damn, what’s he got up his ass?_ , Dean wondered.

“Just fucking tell me what you are, and I’ll kill you quickly. No torture.” Future Dean’s face was still utter seriousness, so Dean didn’t dare try joking again. He knew himself well enough to know that he wasn't messing around.

“I’m telling you man, I swear I’m you. I’m from the past. I got thrown here, and believe me I don’t want to be here. I’m just trying to find my Doc Brown and Delorean to get back home.”

Future Dean seemed to soften slightly at the reference. Back to The Future had always been one of Sam and Dean’s favorite movies. But “softening” only entailed loosening his grip on the knife slightly. He gazed at Dean for a long time, as if he could pierce through the layers of skin and bone and look down at the monster he was supposedly hiding there. In that steady gaze, Dean wasn’t so sure he was free of monsters. Eventually Future Dean sighed, and sat down across from Dean. “Well, I already did all the tests while you were out, holy water, dead man’s blood, silver. You came up clean every time.” He still looked hesitant to believe that Dean was actually him though. “So, if you’re me, then tell me something only I would know.”

Dean scrunched his eyebrows in thought, but something came to him faster than it should have. Cas. The darkness in the front seat of the Impala, and Cas’ hands in his hair. Dean couldn’t possibly imagine telling anyone else about that, but did he really want to talk to his future self about the one time he made out with an angel? And not the porn kind with a thong and fake fluffy wings either. What if Future Dean and Cas hated each other or something? But now that Cas was back in Dean’s head, he couldn’t think of anything else. _Dammit_.

“Uh, well...” He started uncertainly, and Future Dean nodded for him to continue. “There was that time with Cas...” He saw Future Dean stiffen, but he drove on anyway, “We thought he was going to die, and I guess we weren’t really thinking, but he just felt so safe and we didn’t really think we wanted to kiss him, but then we were, and it was kind of... fucking amazing.” Dean stopped, because holy shit what was he going on about? _Did I really just say that kissing Cas was fucking amazing? Did I just say that out loud?_ Dean thought in horror.

Future Dean, however, was smiling slightly, for the first time that night. “Remember how scared Cas was at first?” He added, shaking his head, “Wow, I haven’t thought about that night in a long time.”

Dean laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, do you believe I’m you now?”

“Yeah I guess so. I mean, if you aren’t a vamp or demon or a shifter, I don’t really know what else to go with.” Future Dean got to his feet. “Well, I’m going out. I’’ll be back later.”

“Wait wait wait man, aren’t you gonna take these handcuffs off?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not? You don’t trust yourself?”

“Hell no.”

The door slammed, and Dean swore. So here he was, in the future, and he was stuck handcuffed to a freaking table. “I’m such a dick!” He mumbled decidedly. But the fact was, he didn’t really trust himself. He wasn’t sure if that made him smart, or kind of pitiful.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. He needed to come up with a plan. He was kind of mad at himself for not asking Future Dean a few more questions, because he still had no idea how the zombie apocalypse had happened, or where Bobby and Cas and Sam were. He mostly just wanted to find Cas though. No, not because he wanted to see him especially (though he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t) but because he knew that that dick Zachariah wasn’t going to send him home anytime soon, so he was relying on Cas.

Dean wriggled, trying to reach the lock-picking equipment in his pocket, but he couldn’t quite get it. He kicked at the floor angrily. “Dammit future me! Just come back and let me out of these!” He yelled, even though he knew Future Dean couldn’t hear him. He felt like just throwing a good old tantrum, but he reminded himself that he was a grown man, and he’d found his way out of handcuffs plenty of times.

An hour later, Dean stood triumphantly in the doorway, assessing his situation. Future Dean had apparently taken his knife, and he had two bloody fingers from prying a nail out of the floorboards to pick the lock of his hand cuffs. Other than that, however, things looked pretty good. At least he could Outside the moon was out and the grassy field with its scattering of buildings was empty. He glanced back quickly at Future Dean’s cabin, then headed out into the night.

Some might have called it fate that the first cabin Dean snuck into was Cas’, but it was really more of a complete accident. Chance and nothing more. Dean could have just knocked of course, but the door was open a crack, so he’d decided it would be easier to just walk in. He was used to walking in to strangers houses uninvited. What was the worst that could happen anyway? He found out pretty quickly.

Cas in boxers.

Cas in nothing but fucking boxers sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room reading a book by candle light.

Dean just stood there, staring. He didn’t know what to. Of course he should have hightailed it out of there as fast as possible, because being in the same room as a mostly naked man was not supposed to be something he was ok with. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring, and the only coherent thought that seemed to be able to form in his mind was _“Holy shit, Cas actually looks like an angel.”_ It was something about the warm light of the candle perhaps, or how long his eyelashes seemed in the shadows, but Dean thought, in just that moment, that Cas was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Then, in the next moment he realized what he was thinking, and tried to get out of there, but Cas chose that moment to glance up. “Dean?” Cas sounded surprised, but then again Dean had walked in on him in his boxers, so that was to be expected. Dean felt the blush crawling up his cheeks and he wanted nothing more than to hide somewhere and never come out. “Listen Cas, I’m, uh, really sorry I was just trying to find you because I wanted to go home. You see I’m from the past, and your brother sent me here but he won’t let me go back, and I didn’t mean to walk in on you like that...” Dean realized he was babbling like a freaking high school kid with his first crush, so he made himself stop.

Cas stared. He squinted slightly, and then smiled. It wasn’t a real happy smile, it never got anywhere near his eyes, but Dean was taken aback. “Cas, uh, why are you smiling like that?” Cas didn’t reply, but instead got slowly and deliberately to him feet, and came to stand in front of Dean. His eyes looked almost glassy, and the smile was starting to freak Dean out. “Cas...what’s wrong with you? Are you... _high_?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, Dean, what did you expect? Was I not last time you came by?” His words were soft, but there was an edge of something darker there.  


“What do you mean? I haven’t come by before. I just told you, this is freaking time travel!”

“Oh.” Cas sounded lost, so Dean explained again, trying not to be distracted by the fact that the angel was very close to him, and very nearly naked. It was pretty hard to stay focused. Eventually he had everything explained as best he could, and he added, “So, could you just, uh, use your angel mojo to send me back?”

Cas laughed coldly. “Dean, I’m not an angel anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s nothing heavenly left in me. My grace is gone. I’m nothing. I’m stuck here, and so are you.”

It was Dean’s turn to stare. Now what was he supposed to do? He’d been relying on Cas to help him out, but Cas was high and naked, and apparently not an angel. “Well, today sucks.” He muttered. "Today fucking sucks. I hate the future and I hate your brother!" He hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to seeing Cas again, but this wasn’t Cas. This wasn’t _his_ Cas. Things were messed up, and Dean just wanted to go home. “Cas, uh, thanks.” He said hastily, “But I should probably go.”

Dean would have just turned and walked out of that painfully uncomfortable situation right then and there, if it weren’t for the look on Cas’ face. He was still smiling, but his eyes looked so painfully sad, that Dean was taken aback. “Uh, are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine Dean.” But Cas wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were fixed somewhere on the wall. Dean shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. This wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be thrown into the future where he not only had to fight zombies, but was also expected to take care of Cas and his feelings? Dean Winchester did not _do_ feelings. He was not happy. “Don’t bullshit me Cas. I’m fucking tired of this shit ok? You can’t just stand there in your freaking boxers, high as hell and looking like a kid who’s just had his teddy bear stolen, and tell me you’re fine.” Dean snapped. “What happened to you?"

Cas slumped visibly, and the smile slid from his lips. He still wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye though, and his fingers wound around each other nervously. Dean was again reminded that this wasn’t the same Cas he was used to. This wasn’t the Cas who could smite anything, but tilted his head like a puppy when he was confused. This wasn’t the Cas who watched Dean with a quiet fascination that Dean hadn't failed to notice (it made him uncomfortable, and maybe just a little bit giddy.) Future Cas was someone else entirely.

For a while, neither of them moved. Dean considered how much of an asshole it would make him if he just turned around and bolted, and let Cas deal with his own issues, but he decided that would be bad. Cas had stayed when Dean needed him, so Dean couldn’t very well ditch Cas, even if he wasn’t his Cas. Cas, on the other hand, simply stared at the floor. Finally, he glanced up. “You aren’t leaving?”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“Oh, I just assumed...” Cas looked surprised at the fact that Dean still stood there in the doorway with an expression of resolve on his face. Dean wondered, with a pang of anger, what his future self had done to Cas, to make him so surprised at being treated nicely. Dean knew he was a dick sometimes, but this was Cas for god sakes.

Dean put out a hand, and gently touched Cas’ shoulder. His skin was cold under Dean’s fingers, and he flinched the tiniest bit, but didn’t pull away. “Cas, it’s me.” Dean said, and all roughness was gone from his voice. There in the dim candle light, and the smell of incense and cool breeze from the doorway, Dean was struck by the urge to wrap his arms tightly around this man who was Cas, and wasn’t Cas all at once. He wanted to protect Cas, the way Cas had always protected him. But he didn’t.

Cas also had softened. Perhaps it was the effect of the drugs, or maybe just exhaustion, but his eyelids fluttered slightly, and he let out a soft sigh. Dean remembered that if Cas really wasn’t an angel anymore he would need to sleep. “Hey man,” He said gently, still keeping his fingers pressed to Cas’ skin, “I think you should probably get some sleep.”

Cas said nothing, but simply looked up with those eyes that were both solemn and a little out of focus, and Dean sighed. “Oh, right. You’re stoned.” He turned Cas around and led him to the small bed in the corner. He pulled back the blankets and Cas crawled under them and lay down wordlessly. Dean was reminded of the times when they were young and Sam would wake up in the night, scared. He would always crawl into bed with Dean, and Dean would sigh and lead him back to his own bed, where little Sam would curl up again, and be asleep almost instantly, knowing he was safe. Dean would sit on the edge of the bed for a while, watching the way Sam’s chest rose and fell, and the way stray pieces of hair always fell across his eyes.

Dean shook his head. Thinking about Sammy was no good. Sammy was gone, both in his time and apparently here as well, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed it was his fault. He had to make himself stay away from thoughts of his brother, for they tore at him mercilessly if he didn’t hold them as far from himself as he could.

Dean was snapped back to the present (or the future, if you wanted to be precise about things) when a gust of wind blew out the candle that still sat on the floor, plunging the small cabin into darkness. Cas lay on his back, with his eyes already pressed closed, and didn’t seem to notice the sudden change of light. One hand lay curled on his bare chest, and his lips moved slightly, as if he were mouthing something. Dean thought he looked small, and it scared him. Cas was supposed to be strong and fearsome and invincible.

Time stretched out, and for what seemed like ages, Dean couldn’t look away. He stood there next to Cas’ bed in the dark, with his hands in his pockets, and watched him fall asleep. He watched his lips stop their silent prayer, and watched his hand uncurl, and lay cupped like a flower on the sheets. He watched the way his eyelids moved the tiniest bit. The moon rose until it shone in through the window, and painted them in strange silver and blue shadows. Cas rolled onto his side, and mumbled something that wasn’t quite words. The curtains fluttered gently. And still Dean stayed, watching over Cas. Dean knew how to protect, and even if there weren’t any real demons after Cas, he had seen them in his eyes. And Dean knew better than anyone what it felt like to have monsters inside you.

When Dean was sure that Cas wasn’t going to wake, he walked to were Cas had been sitting, and picked up the candle. He set it on a table, then scooped up the book, closed it and tucked it on the shelf. He considered leaving then, but where did he have to go? All that was out there was zombies and strangers and a future version of him that didn’t laugh, and trusted himself even less than Dean did. None of it sounded very appealing.

So instead, Dean unlaced his boots, set his knife on the table, and lay down next to Cas. He tried, like always, to remind himself that this was supposed to be weird and uncomfortable, but it was a halfhearted attempt. He knew very well that in reality, sleeping next to Cas made him feel more safe and comfortable than he could even dare to explain. And Sammy wasn’t around to take pictures of them either, which was a plus.

Dean closed his eyes, and when he felt Cas hand brush against him, he didn’t move away.


	9. Chapter 9

When Dean woke the next morning, he didn’t know where he was. He was used to waking up in different beds, different hotel rooms, different cities, but something about this was even more different than that. The air was cold, and thick with the smell of dead leaves and candle wax and incense. He ran a lazy hand over his face, and peeled his eyes open. The small strangled sound that left his mouth was entirely accidental. Cas. Cas was there next to him, sleeping, with thick stubble on his chin and his lips slightly parted. And Dean panicked. 

He was out of the bed, out of the door and halfway across the field before he let himself breathe. His knife was still on the table, and his bare toes burned with the morning chill of the grass, but he wasn’t going back. He couldn’t. Things were getting much too far away from safe, and that wasn’t even _his_ Cas sleeping back there. 

Dean felt sick. The camp was still in the early daylight, but he found his way to the edge of the forest anyway, and slumped down on a log where no one would see him. He had to think, but he didn’t want to. See, he could write off the nights with Cas, and even the kiss if he tried hard enough, because he’d needed it. He’d been lost, and Cas had come to protect him. Hell, it was just his job. He was an angel after all. He’d been born to sit on the shoulders of humanity. 

But the night before had been different, because everything had been backwards. Cas had been all small and broken, and Dean could tell himself that he’d crawled into that bed to keep Cas safe, but really he’d done it for himself. He’d wanted to be close to Cas. He’d stood there in the dark, and realized that Cas didn’t need him there anymore, and he’d still laid down next to him. He’d _wanted_ to feel all that skin, and warm breath and the weight of someone, no not just someone, Castiel, next to him. 

It scared him so much that he bit down on his hand to distract himself. All the years, all the standing up, and fighting and always shouldering on, and Dean Winchester was terrified that he was finally a goner. He was lost. Completely fucked. And to make things worse, he didn’t even have any alcohol, or shoes for that matter.  
It took him a long time to muster the strength needed to make his way back into camp. It was so cold that he was shaking, and his jacket was still in Cas’ cabin, but even so he was tempted to just stay. If he just didn’t see Cas, if he sat there in the stillness for long enough, then maybe everything would be ok again. But most of him knew that was ridiculous. He couldn’t survive on denial and stubbornness alone. He knew that from experience. 

And so with a few muttered curses, and a healthy amount of stamping to get the blood back into his throbbing feet, Dean headed back towards the cabins. He couldn’t go to Cas’, obviously, and he didn’t know anyone else, so even though he wanted to avoid his future self nearly as much as he did Cas, that was where he went. Future Dean, however, was nowhere to be seen. Dean found a bottle of jack stashed in the back of a cupboard behind some canned tomatoes, and since it was technically his, in a roundabout way, he helped himself. He leaned against the dark wood of the wall, relishing the warm burn the alcohol left in his chest. It made him feel safe. 

He drank half the bottle in slow gulps before he began to feel it in head. He relished too the softness that crept in at the edges of his thoughts, making the sharp things dull and painless. When Future Dean came in, the screen door clattering closed behind him, Dean felt considerably less frantic about things. He even managed a tired smile of greeting. Future Dean did not look amused. 

“Where’d you get that? And what happened to your handcuffs?” He accused. 

Dean shrugged, gesturing vaguely towards the cupboards. “Found it in there.” He didn’t mention the handcuff. 

“Well fucking put it back, it’s mine.” 

“Then it’s technically mine too.” Dean laughed, even though it wasn’t very funny. Future Dean didn’t. He just stood there glowering, like he was considering whether he wanted to punch Dean or not. In the end he just settled on snatching the bottle away, and taking a long pull himself. For a moment they studied each other, and then Future Dean’s face softened the tiniest bit, and he sighed. “I guess I should’ve known better. Shouldn’t have left you alone with my alcohol.” But he didn’t sound very angry, and after taking another sip, he handed the bottle back to Dean. 

“Thanks.” He murmured, taking at as a peace offering. 

For a while, they sat together on the edge of Future Dean’s small cot, passing the bottle back and forth in silence. Dean thought it would have looked pretty strange, had anyone chosen that moment to walk in. Hell, he’d done plenty of weird things in his life, but Dean decided that drinking with his future self was definitely up there on the list of things he’d never expected to experience. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just Dean’s unease with silence, but after a few more moments he spoke up. “So, uh, where’s Sam? Did he finally get a girl and move out or something?” He tried to sound casual, but all he could think of was the note he’d found at Bobby’s. He’d only read it once, but even so he could feel the words, heavy in his head. 

Future Dean looked at him sharply. “I’m not talking about Sam.” His voice cut even more than his look, but Dean didn’t much care. He needed to know what had happened to Sam. 

“Yes you are. Where is he?” 

“He’s gone Dean.” 

“Where?” 

“Hell if I know.” 

“What do you mean? You didn’t go after him? You didn’t try to find him? It’s fucking Sammy for god sakes! We always look out for him. That’s our job. That’s always our job, more than anything else!” Dean’s voice was rising. Sure, he knew he was screwed up, but apparently Future Dean was even worse. He was just living, like nothing was wrong, when Sam was who knows where. 

“Oh, so you know exactly where Sam is in your time huh?” Future Dean snapped back, and Dean crumpled. He’d forgotten for a moment, in the face of zombies and Cas that even in his time, Sam was gone. And he’d let him go. He’d fucking _told_ him they were better off without each other. Wherever Sam was in this strange place, past Sam, _his_ Sam could be dead for all he knew. The thought made him seethe with sudden anger. “Fuck you.” He said to Future Dean, and the fact that he was, in a way, insulting himself felt strangely good. So good that he repeated it a little louder, “Fuck you.” 

Future Dean glared at him, obviously pretty pissed. “You know what? Fuck you too. You don’t know what I’ve had to deal with! First Sam disappearing, and then saying yes to being the devil’s freaking meat suit. And then as if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m living in a shitty cabin surrounded by zombies and a bunch of freaked out, pretty much useless survivors who for some reason expect me to protect them! Oh, and there’s Cas. I don’t even have him anymore, because he’s gone all crazy, and I have to protect him now too. And I just want it all to be over. So don’t fucking judge me ok?” 

Dean was silent at that, because shit, what was he supposed to say? Sam was gone, actually gone. Sam was Lucifer and Cas was crazy and Dean was drinking jack with himself. Saying that things were getting out of hand would have been an understatement. All Dean could think to do was grab the bottle and take a long swig. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lay awake in musty sheets listening to Sammy sleep, and he wanted to drive for hours through fields and towns and not have to stop for anything. He wanted to burn bones and exorcise demons, and have people think he was a hero again. But his brother was gone, and he wasn’t a hero. 

The next time, it was Future Dean who broke the uncomfortable silence. “Shit, I don’t know why I told you all that.” He murmured, fiddling with the smooth grip of the gun he kept strapped to his thigh. “Uh, I gotta go, big mission today. I won’t cuff you, but don’t leave, you hear?” 

“What big mission?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. The last thing he wanted to do was stay cooped up in a cabin with nothing but his thoughts all day. 

“We think we have some good information of where to find the Colt. And Lucifer. This might be it.” Future Dean’s voice brimmed with a repressed excitement. Dean frowned. “Hold on, but you said...” He trailed off, “You said Sam....” He couldn’t say it. “You can’t shoot your own brother Dean!” 

“Watch me.” Future Dean said, and there was once again no hint of emotion in his cold eyes. Dean shivered slightly as the door slammed closed. 

*******

Dean didn’t waste much time in following Future Dean. Whatever mistakes he’d made, he wasn’t going to sit by while his future self went off to shoot Sam. So what if he was Lucifer, that didn’t mean that deep down, he wasn’t still the boy who’s shoved his army men into cracks in the car, and put salt in Dean’s coffee. He was still Dean’s baby brother, devil or no. 

Dean stayed in the shadows, following the figure of Future Dean past two cabins and towards the line of army jeeps. He was careful to step softly, something he’d grown quite good at in the hunting business, so that even in his borrowed boots (he wasn’t about to go back for his) he was almost silent. It was much harder to move about unnoticed now that the sun was up though, as everyone in camp was awake and outside. 

When Dean neared the jeeps, he stopped, back pressed against a wall, to watch. Two men were loading duffel bags of what he assumed to be weapons, while Future Dean conversed quietly with someone dressed entirely in camouflage a little ways off. On the front of one of the jeeps, another two men sat waiting. One was lacing his boots while the other leaned back lazily, taking long gulps from a can of beer. The was an air of almost excitement about the group, despite the fact that they were obviously heading out into imminent danger. 

Then, Dean drew a sharp breath as another figure came out from behind a nearby cabin and sidled towards the group. Cas. He wore army pants and a light blue linen shirt that was pressed down across the front by the strap of the gun he had slung across his back. Dean thought he looked strange without his trench coat and tie, and it only served to remind him even more that this wasn't the same angel. He watched as Cas climbed into the jeep nearest him, pulling off his gun in a fluid motion and tucking it on his lap.  

Dean sighed. The fact that Cas was apparently on the mission was not good. Not good at all. Because as much as Dean was trying not to think about it, he'd pretty much had to put Cas to bed just the night before. The guy had been sitting on the floor stoned out of his mind and practically naked for god sakes. He was hardly fit to be fighting demons. Dean nearly marched straight out there to give Future Dean, who was obviously the leader, a piece of his mind, but then he remembered he was supposed to be incognito. 

Dean waited in the safety of the shadows until the two loading gear disappeared, leaving the back of Cas’ jeep open. Checking both ways, he darted out and dove into the dim interior of the truck. Dean wasn't as tall as Sam, but he definitely wasn't short either, and the space was cramped. The fact that there were two or three tarps, a few duffel bags, a stack of handguns and a small wooden box back there with him didn't help things. Dean managed to curl himself uncomfortably onto his side, and pull one of the tarps over him. His neck was bent at an awkward angle and he was pretty sure his feet were going to fall asleep, but at least he was in. He was going on the mission and he was going to be a hero and save Sammy, and he concentrated on that. Even if a dark part of him knew that it was complete bullshit, it made him feel better.  

Dean jumped when the back of the jeep was slammed closed and they rattled into motion. Although he couldn't see, he knew from the bumps that they were heading down the potholed dirt road he'd come in on. Every jerk of the jeep knocked Deans head painfully against something hard, but he was to cramped to move.  

After a while the ride smoothed out. Cas, and whoever else was sitting up front with him was quiet, but someone turned on the stereo. The music was calm and decidedly not rock, which meant Dean didn't like it, but it made him sleepy. So even in his discomfort, he began to drift off.  

His dream started out nice. He was with Sam, and they were driving somewhere, but it was too dark for Dean to tell where. Sam was laughing at something, really laughing with his eyes squeezed closed and his head tilted back. "What's so funny Sammy?" Dean asked quizzically, but Sam just laughed harder.  

Dean shook his head, grinning, and turned back to the road.  A thick fog seemed to be rising up from the ground around the car, making vision even more impossible. The headlights were dim as candles, and Dean frowned in concentration. "Hey Sam, could keep an eye out for anything on your side? I can barely see the damn road!"  

Sam was silent. Dean shot him a glance, and swerved from the shock. Because Sam was still there, but he was little Sam, maybe eight years old, wearing a big tan jacket Dean recognized as his own. He wasn't laughing anymore. In fact there was blood on his forehead, and his eyes were glassy with tears. "Sammy?" Deans voice came out embarrassingly high. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sam what happened?"  

"Nothing." Sam said, giving Dean his usual defiant look that said he was trying his hardest to be tough. "I...I was waiting for you to pick me up and...and the bigger boys knocked me down because you weren't there." His voice grew a little shaky, and one big tear ran down his cheek. He swiped it away with the back of his hand. Dean felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Had he really been failing Sammy for so long? 

"Sam-" he started, turning away from the fog and the dark to look at Sam. He looked so painfully tiny. Dean reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulder, but he pulled back, his teary eyes hardening. "You weren't there Dean! You didn't protect me! I needed you. I needed you.” 

Dean couldn’t think about some stupid kids though, all he could see was Sam, lips dark with demon blood and hungry eyes begging Dean to help him. “Sammy I’m-” but it was too late. the passenger seat was suddenly empty, and the Impala was gliding swiftly into the mist in silence. Dean didn’t even have the heart to swear. He closed his eyes, loosening his death grip on the wheel and whispered it to the space that no longer held his brother, _“I’m sorry Sammy. I’m so sorry.”_

*******

When Dean woke he was pretty certain for a couple of seconds that he was dying. All he could see was a green-tinged darkness, and it was hard to breathe. But then he remembered the mission, and the tarp in the back of the jeep. He pushed it away from his face and it was damp with sweat. Gulping the cool air, Dean tried not think about the dream he’d just had. It had been meek in comparison to the gruesome deaths he usually had the pleasure of watching, but it had shaken him just the same. He only hoped he hadn’t made any noises in his sleep. It wasn’t until then that he realized that the music was no longer playing, and the jeep was stopped. 

“Shit!” He muttered, scrambling to a sitting position and trying to stretch the ache out of his back. Like he’d expected, the jeeps was parked, and empty. He didn’t have any weapons, but luckily most of the supplies were still tucked around him, so he grabbed a gun and shoved it into the back of his pants. Then realizing he wasn’t going to be able to get out of the jeep the same way he’d gotten in, he wormed his way over the back of the seats and tried the door. Thankfully it was unlocked. Dean wondered, offhandedly, if zombies were known for stealing cars. Apparently not. 

It turned out that the jeep, as well as two others were parked across the street from a large building surrounded by a rather overgrown garden that spilled through the gaps in the fence and onto the sidewalk. It being fall, most of it looked to be in the process of dying, not that Dean knew anything about plants. The building itself was very nice, with marble and columns and big windows. It might have been the town hall, or the mayors house once, but now most of the glass had been smashed from the windows, and the front door was boarded up. Weeds grew from the cracked stone steps, and although it made it look slightly less inviting, it hardly looked like the place Lucifer would choose to hide out with the one weapon that could supposedly kill him. But then again, he was the king of hell after all, so he could do whatever he damn well wanted. Dean had learned long ago (thought he still occasionally forgot in the heat of the moment) that assumptions were dangerous. 

Dean crossed the road, gun still safely tucked away, but ready just in case, and pushed the gate open cautiously. The garden was empty, and eerily still, but he could hear some noises coming either from inside building, or behind it. Keeping off the paths, which were gravel and crunched loudly under his boots, Dean made his way towards the door. Just as he was nearing the steps, he heard a small sound behind him and turned- and forget his caution entirely. 

Sam stood there, in a crisp white suit that stood out against the green tangle of plants, smiling faintly. The late afternoon sunshine glowed behind him, making him look almost angelic, and almost unreal. But Dean didn’t see any of that, he just saw he brother. “Sam!” He called, his face breaking into a grin and without even stopping to think he was leaping through flower beds towards the figure.


	10. Chapter 10

It only took a matter of seconds for Dean to realize that the note had been right. Dean had raised his brother himself, poured his Cheerios and tied his shoes and taught him to shoot, and he knew damn well how to recognize him in nearly every situation. It was Sammy's face, Sammy's silly hair that he refused cut, but it wasn't Sammy's smile. It wasn’t Sam. 

Dean's own grin faltered, and he skidded to a stop. His arms,  which had been outstretched to hug the hell out of his stupid, reckless, little brother, falling to his sides. "You aren't my brother." His voice came out somewhere between hurt and angry. 

The man who wasn't Sam smiled again, and raised one eyebrow in mock appreciation. "Very good Dean. I'm glad you can tell your own brother from the devil, though I suppose we're kind of the same person now." He stood straighter than Sam did, his chest puffed out almost pompously. That immaculate white suit was as crisp and clean as paper, and Dean probably would have thought it was classy as hell, if he’d been in some other situation. 

"Lucifer." Dean tried to inject as much hatred, as much anger as he could into the name, but it didn't make him feel any more powerful. In fact, it only made it worse, because he was admitting to himself that it really wasn't his brother standing in front of him. He was accepting the fact that Sammy was gone, maybe forever, and that he hadn't been there to protect him. That realization made Dean furious. "You get the fuck out of my brother!" He growled, giving Lucifer his best death glare, "I don't know what you did to him to make him agree to this, but you need to leave Sam the hell alone, or you're gonna have me to deal with!" 

Lucifer laughed, and like the smile, it wasn't Sammy's. It sounded all wrong and twisted coming from that mouth. Dean bristled. He did not appreciate being laughed at on the best of days, and it was definitely not the best of days. He wanted to scream, in fact, or shoot something, but the something he wanted to shoot most of all was inside of his brother which complicated matters. He balled his hands into fists and took a few steadying breaths. Threats obviously weren't going to work. When he thought about it, threatening the king of hell himself seemed a little dangerous to say the least, not that Dean stood down in the face of danger. But he decided to try another tactic.  
Biting back the anger that still clung heavy and hot in the back of his throat, Dean spoke to Sam instead. "Hey man, I know you're in there. I know it probably hurts, but I'm here now. Big brother Dean is back to save the day, so I need you to fight this, you hear me Sammy? I know you're a fighter 'cause I taught you myself. So you fight him dammit! Kick that son of a bitch's ass from the inside out. You've got this!" 

For the tiniest of moments, so short that Dean almost missed it, Lucifers smile faltered. He twitched slightly, as if something really was hurting him from somewhere deep inside. Fingers tightened on the sleeve of a white suit that Sam honestly wouldn't be caught dead in, and Dean held his breath. But then the second passed, and whatever hold Sam might have had on his body was gone. "Dean, you know you can't save your brother. Can't you see that it's too late? This is Sam's fate, and yours too. No matter what happens, no matter what choices you make, you will always end up here." Lucifer plucked a rose from behind him with a smooth motion, and used it to gesture around the dying garden. 

"No." Of that, Dean was sure. He would not let things play out this way. He would go back, somehow, and make sure Sam didn't say yes. Hell, he'd chain him up somewhere if he had to, and keep watch. "Screw fate, I'm not coming back here." 

Lucifer looked at him with an expression of self satisfaction, which filled Dean again with that helpless fury. He clenched his fists, and curled his toes under in his boots to keep himself from lashing out. More than anything Dean hated feeling helpless, especially when it came to taking care of his brother. It hurt him so much to stand there taking in Sam's eyes and Sam's hair and Sam's long fingers, all the while knowing that it wasn't his brother. But Sammy was in there, somewhere, and he wasn't about to give up on that. 

"Sam." Dean started again, "Sam I know for a fact you're in there." With narrowed eyes he gazed hard into the familiar eyes across from him, willing his brother to break whatever it was that Lucifer used to hold him fast. Lucifer was silent. Dean held his gaze steady. "Please Sammy." The plea was quiet, and it was lost in a sudden burst of gunfire from the pillared house. 

At the loud cracks, Dean lost his concentration and turned to see a waterfall of glass shards come tumbling from a second floor window. He'd completely forgotten at the sight of his brother that this was a mission. Future Dean and his crew were inside even then, and the suspected demons had apparently found them. Dean imagined him in there, with his gun holster and hard eyes, stepping through the sparkling pieces of glass, searching for Lucifer. And Dean had found him first, thank God. He knew Future Dean would have killed Lucifer without hesitation, and left Sammy’s body there bleeding without a backwards glance, and that thought terrified him, because Future Dean was, after all, _him_. 

There was another gunshot from inside, and the distant pound of running footsteps, but Dean turned back to the figure in front of him. He knew there wasn’t much time. The old house was only so big, and with his ten or so friends, it wouldn’t take Future Dean very long to realize that what he was looking for wasn’t there. Lucifer still studied Dean calmly, that infuriating satisfied smile still on his lips. 

“Sammy.” Dean pleaded, voice gentle, “Sammy I need you man. What am I supposed to do if you’re gone? All I’ve ever known, since I was five years old dammit, was that the most important thing in the world was to keep you safe. If...if you’re gone then there’s nothing left for me, except maybe Cas, but that’s different.” He cursed himself for bringing up the angel, because he was suddenly reminded that Cas’ very un-angelic self was in that house too, that one of those gunshots could have taken him. At the mention of Cas, something changed in Lucifer’s eyes, and his smile grew the tiniest bit, as if something had occurred to him, but Dean didn’t dare ask. The last thing he wanted was for Cas to be a part of this utterly messed up situation. 

With a small huff of frustration, Dean took one step closer to Lucifer and took a breath to compose himself. _I can do this,_ he thought, _I just have to find the right words to get Sammy to fight in there, and then we can get the hell out of here._ Already there were more sounds from inside, another crash and then a shout, followed by another burst of gunfire. Dean winced slightly, but didn’t turn again to look. 

“You know, your brother is gone Dean, but you don’t have to worry about this vessel. Those weaklings in there aren’t going to find anything to kill me with.” Lucifer reached behind him, and slid something from the back of his waistband. With the proud half-smirk of a magician performing a trick, he held out a shining object. _The colt._ Instinctively Dean’s hand fell to butt of his own gun, but it was obvious that Lucifer had no intention of shooting him. Why waist a perfectly good bullet? 

“You know Dean,” Lucifer continued, flipping the colt from one hand to the other, “You should be proud of your brother. He made the right choice. He is going to be a part of something bigger than all this, than humanity. You see Dean, you humans think you're powerful, and important, and strong, but you're wrong. You're like insects compared to us, alive for barely a blink, and then gone forever. All those people you've saved? They're nothing. You're nothing. But now your Sammy here gets a chance to be greater. Wouldn't you rather fight in the apocalypse than lie down and die like a dog? Dean, I'm surprised at you. I've heard so much about the Winchesters, I expected more of you. But you're no different than every other pitiful human I've met. Disgustingly helpless. Can’t you see why I was cast from heaven? It was that or bow down to you humans, and even after all this time in the pit, I believe I made a good decision.” 

Dean listened with his hands still clenched, for Lucifer’s words hurt him more than he cared to show. He couldn’t care less about the devil’s feelings towards humanity. Hell, he had his reservations about people himself sometimes. But telling him that every life he’d saved was nothing? It was only his brother’s eyes keeping him from wrestling free the colt and shooting that bastard until there weren’t any more bullets. 

“You can’t hurt me.” Dean said through clenched teeth finally, because he had to say something. His window of opportunity to save his brother was rapidly closing, and he knew it. He knew he’d have hell to pay when Future Dean found him here. “You can tell me I’m weak, but at least I’m fighting. You send out your demons to do all your dirty work, and you sit here in your stupid borrowed body, because you can’t fight on your own! And I know my brother is in there, and I know he’s strong enough to break out.” There were footsteps behind Dean, but he didn’t turn, didn’t even blink. “Screw you Lucifer, because this isn’t even real. I’m going to go back to the right time, and I won’t let this happen. You are more of a nothing than I am you worthless son of a bitch!” 

Lucifer’s expression did not change. He obviously wasn’t threatened in the least by Dean’s words. “Dean, Dean, Dean, your brother is strong, that’s why I chose him for my vessel, but he will never be strong enough to fight me. I can prove it, if you’d like.” 

“You can’t prove anything.” 

“Oh yes?” Lucifer’s smile widened, and with a smooth motion he flipped the colt from his left hand to his right, and raised it, pointing it towards Dean. Instinctively and thoughtlessly Dean dropped to the ground, throwing his hands up over his head in protection. There was a click as the gun was cocked, then the loud bang of it firing, and the whistle as the bullet flew past above him. 

For a moment, Dean was hit with a wave of relief. Lucifer had shot at him to prove a point, and had missed, and now they could get back to the task of trying to get Sammy free. But then, there was a sickening gasp of surprise, and Dean was scrambling back to his feet with the horrible realization that Lucifer did not simply miss. Dread that bordered on fear made him turn slowly to look behind him. He wasn’t sure he could look into the eyes of another person who was dying because of him. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. 

Cas stood only a few yards behind him. His face was painted with a look of utter surprise, blue eyes wide. His hand was pressed to his chest, beneath the strap of his gun, and blood trickled darkly from between his fingers. He caught sight of Dean and a flash of hope passed over his face, but it twisted to pain, and he collapsed forward onto his knees. 

After that, Dean could see nothing but Cas. He screamed, and dove towards the crumpled shape on the ground, clutching at his shirt, holding him up. Already the stain of blood had spread, covering most of the front of his shirt. His eyes looked glassy, and they stared somewhere past Dean, even as Dean shook him, begging him to focus. “Cas. Please dear God look at me Cas.” Dean’s voice came out scratchy and frantic but he didn’t care. 

Cas blinked, and opened his mouth as if to reply, but all that came out was a thin line of blood. His teeth too were red with it. “No no no Cas don’t you dare die on me!” Dean let go of Cas’ shoulder with one hand and pressed it to the wound. The amount of warm wetness that covered his hand almost instantly told him that this wasn’t something that could be fixed. But he wouldn’t let himself believe it. 

Cas let out a whimper of pain and his head fell forward, but Dean caught it, held it up too. He cupped his cheek, dug his fingers into that dark hair, and choked out a lie. “Cas, you’re going to be fine. I’m here. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe” Cas seemed to nod a little, like he trusted Dean to do just that, but his eyes were even more vacant. 

Tears poured down Dean’s face and he pulled Cas against his chest. He could feel the heat of the blood soaking into his shirt, and smell the metallic thickness of it. The faint touch of Cas’ stumbling breath was warm on his neck. “Cas, Cas,” It was the only word he could think, so he just repeated it again and again, a plea and a prayer all at once. He stroked Cas’ hair gently, hoping it was comforting. 

“Dean?” The word was quiet and shaky, and then Cas choked, and made a horrible gurgling sound in the back of his throat. Dean winced, but held him tighter. “I’m here Cas, I’m here.” He promised, but the words came out so shaky they barely sounded like words. Cas choked again, and stiffened against him. And then he relaxed. 

Dean knew even before he pressed two shaking fingers to Cas’ neck that it was too late. His best friend in the world was gone. Gone. He started to lay him down on the cold dirt, but he couldn’t stand the glimpse he caught of those bloody lips and dead blue eyes, so he just held him. Dean forgot what he had told Lucifer, that everything that happened in this time wasn’t real, because this, this was real. The pain that tore at him like something alive was very real. His fingers still stroked that messy dark hair, and he buried his face in it and sobbed.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean awoke to darkness. He lay on his back for a moment, trying to remember what had happened. And then it hit him. _Cas._ He scrambled upwards, searching the dimness for his body. But the air was warm and still, and ground beneath him was carpet. The air smelled of mothballs, and cheap soap. He didn’t know where the hell he was, but he definitely wasn’t in the garden. 

He clambered to his feet and moved his hand slowly along the wall behind him until he felt a light switch. He flicked it on, bathing the room in a dim yellow glow. There were two beds, one neat and the other rumpled, and a duffel bag of ammo and weapons on the floor. Flowered curtains covered the windows. He was in a motel room. The same one he’d fallen asleep in before the zombies and Sam and Cas. 

_Oh God Cas._

The first thing Dean could think to do was yell his name. It was stupid and pointless, and the alarm clock on the nightstand read 3:54 AM, but he didn’t care. “Cas! Cas you get your ass down here right now, you hear? I don’t care what important freaking business you have in heaven, I need you right this minute! Please!” He shouted the words, loud as he could, then sank down on the edge of the bed to wait, breathing hard from the shouting and from the fear that Cas wouldn’t come. 

The room was still. Someone next door banged on the wall, and told him very politely to ‘shut the fuck up.’ A car rushed by on the street outside, lights shining through a crack in the curtains for the moment of it’s passing. Dean took a deep breath. Logically, he knew that if he truly was back in his own time, then Cas was almost certainly perfectly fine. He was probably up in heaven, doing whatever angels do for fun. 

But logic didn’t make Dean feel a whole lot better. Hell, to be honest it didn’t help at all. Because future or no, he had held a dying Cas in his arms. He had watched his eyes go vacant, staring up at him without seeing a thing. He had felt the blood soaking through his shirt, thick and hot, and heard it in Cas’ throat as he tried to breathe past it. He had dodged the bullet that killed his best friend in the world, and no amount of logic was going to make that go away. 

He looked down at his hands, and winced. The blood had dried dark on his fingers and palms, and he told himself that he should get up and wash it off, but the bathroom seemed far away. _Besides_ , some dark part of his mind whispered, _what if you’re wrong, and this is the last part of Cas you’ll ever see._ His shirt too was soaked with the stuff, where he’d held the angel against him, so he wiped his hands off the best he could on there instead. 

And still, no sign of Cas. With a sigh of frustration Dean flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was one of those ugly brown stucco ones with all the little blobs that seemed to turn into pictures if you looked at them long enough. Dean remembered lying on his back next to Sammy in some other motel long ago, picking out cats and cars trees from the madness. Tonight though, all he could see were the splatters of blood on Cas’ cheeks, and he had to look away. 

He must have lain there for almost an hour, trying not to look at the blood on his hands, or the blood-like patterns on the ceiling, and most of all trying not to think about Cas. Of course, Cas was just about all he could think about. Hell, he needed alcohol, but the bottle on the floor by the bed was empty, and he couldn’t find his flask. He half considered leaving, heading out into the night to find some dingy 24 hour liquor store to stock up, but he didn’t. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt like if he moved, it would make it harder for Cas to find him. 

The longer he waited, the more frustrated, and finally angry, he grew. Couldn’t Cas spare two minutes to fly down and prove he was ok? Just two minutes, and the guy could fucking time travel, so he wouldn’t even be wasting them if that was what he was worried about. “Dammit Cas!” Dean called, face tilted up once more, “You’re a fucking angel, how hard can it be? I’m going crazy down here." 

By the time Dean heard a rustle behind him, he had all but given up. He didn’t even bother sitting up, because it was probably his imagination anyway, or perhaps he’d left a window open. But then there was another, more definite shuffle, and a soft “Hello Dean,” and he was off the bed faster than if it had been on fire. 

“Cas?” The angel stood there by the window looking just as he always did, in his trench coat and backwards tie, with his usual somber expression. Dean just stared. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe, dammit, and he was starting to worry that his mouth was hanging open, so he made a point of shutting it. 

“Dean, is there something you need? Your prayers sounded very urgent, so I came as quickly as possible. Is everything okay?” Cas looked worried, like Dean had gone a little crazy since they last spoke. Wasn’t that far fetched really, if Dean thought about it. His throat felt thick like he was going to cry, which was just embarrassing. So instead he grinned. He covered the space between them in two strides, and wrapped his arms around Cas so tightly he could feel the angel squirm slightly in discomfort. Dean didn’t care. 

“Cas.. my god Cas, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m just so glad so see you. Dammit man, you look good.” 

“Dean? What’s going on?” Cas asked in a concerned voice, his words half muffled against Dean’s shoulder. 

“Never mind Cas, it doesn’t matter. I’m just...happy to see you.” His voice was scratchy from holding back tears, so he stopped talking and held Cas even tighter. Somehow it wasn’t enough that he could feel the angel breathing, feel his arms come up hesitantly to wrap around his waist. It wasn’t enough to run his hands over the canvas-like fabric of that stupid trench coat that Dean had somehow come to adore. It wasn’t enough. 

Dean needed to be closer, somehow. The backs of his eyes were still red with all that blood. His ears still rang faintly from that one terrible shot. He could feel Cas, very alive and very much confused in his arms, and yet somehow his head was still having trouble catching up, believing he was really alive. 

Without thinking, Dean gripped Cas’ face with both hands, thumbs pressed to his cheekbones and fingers buried in his hair, and kissed him. His lips tore at the angel’s with a wild desperation that seemed to be the only way he knew how to kiss these days. All he knew was that he needed to taste Cas, needed to know for certain that everything would be ok. 

Cas let a small, strangled sound of surprise, but he didn’t pull away. At first, he was still, but he slowly tightened his grip on Dean’s waist, and pressed back against him with his own strength. Dean felt the change, and some of the ferociousness drained out of him. His grip on Cas’ hair loosened, and he kissed him more gently, tongue tracing the outline of his lips with the same smooth motions the angel had used to show him the constellations on that night when everything had started. Cas was alive. Cas was completely and utterly alive, and he tasted inexplicably of apples. 

Dean pulled away then, and just looked at Cas, drank in those absolutely not-dead blue eyes, the speckles of stubble on his chin, and the curve of his jaw. He kept his hands cupped around Cas’ face, so he couldn’t go anywhere. The angel gazed back at him, his expression one that was somewhere between complete confusion, and adoration. The latter made Dean feel stupidly warm and happy. He still felt like he could cry, but in a good way. In a cheesy, chick flick, holy-shit-that-was-the-best-kiss-I’ve-ever-had way. He was breathless and flushed and too euphoric to even be embarrassed. 

“Dean...I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re acting so strange...Did I do something?” Cas asked slowly, with that little squint that just made Dean want to kiss him again. 

“It doesn’t matter Cas.” 

“But Dean...” 

“Cas, shut up. I’m just glad you’re alive.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be alive.” 

“I...I can’t really explain, it’s a long story and -” And then Dean was crying. He’d tried so hard not to, but he could feel that one treacherous tear slip down his face. He could still see the blood, all that blood. Even with Cas right there in his hands, even with the warmth that had come from kissing him, he couldn’t shake the images of that fucking blood. 

It was then that Cas seemed to notice that he had blood all over his shirt. He pulled free of Dean’s grip, his worried frown deepening. “Dean, are you hurt?” He asked urgently. When Dean reached for him again, Cas pushed his hands away, kneeling instead to examine the dark stain just above his stomach. 

“I’m not hurt dammit!” Dean said in frustration. He wanted Cas back in his arms. He needed that physical assurance. “See? Perfectly fine!” He pulled up his t-shirt to show the angel his unmarred skin. Sure, he felt far from fine, but the problem was nothing to do with actual wounds. Well, not his own at least. 

Seemingly satisfied that he wasn’t bleeding to death, Cas rose and studied Dean’s face instead. Dean took a deep, shuddering breath, and met his eyes. For a flash, all he could see were the vacant dead one of the future, and he flinched, but then they were gone. _Cas is fucking fine!_ Dean reminded himself again and again, because he seemed to keep forgetting. The angel put out a hand and touched his arm gently, and even through his shirt he could feel the warmth, the life. “Everything will be fine.” Cas assured him, and even though Dean knew it was total bullshit, it was comforting just the same. 

After that, all the fight drained out of Dean. All that desperation, fierce pain and almost fiercer euphoria that had driven him to kiss Cas seeped away, and all he could feel was exhaustion. All he wanted was a sizable shot of whiskey and a good nights sleep, free of nightmares or realizations of his imminent insanity. Hell, his new favorite thing was apparently to make out with angels when he was having a shitty day. Male angels no less. If someone had told him, when he was in high school say, that he would get off on kissing a guy angel in a fricken trench coat he probably would have either laughed, or punched them. And yet here he was. 

“Dean I think perhaps you should get some rest. I’m not entirely sure why, but from what I’ve heard sleep helps humans heal, and you seem rather....strange right now.” Cas gestured at the bed, and Dean just nodded. He let Cas lead him over and help him take off his boots. His eyes were still wet with tears, and he wiped them away angrily with the back of his hand. He needed to get ahold of himself. 

He crawled under the covers with his jacket still on, and he was more than relieved when Cas turned out the lights and lay down next to him without him having to ask. He hadn’t wanted to say it, even to himself, but Dean knew that if Cas hadn’t stayed, he wouldn’t have a had a chance at sleep. But as it was Cas was there with him under the covers, not touching him but close enough to touch, and Dean felt like maybe he didn’t even need the alcohol. He turned on his side, facing Cas, and closed his eyes. 

It was strange and maybe a bit worrisome, Dean thought, how much he’d grown to depend on Cas recently. But he’d watched the angel bleed to death for god sakes, so he couldn’t bring himself to care about the strangeness that night. He’d deal with his sexual identity crisis some other time. “Hey Cas?” He murmured. 

“Yes Dean?” 

“I just wanted to...to tell you that, um, you’re really important to me. And...um...I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ok? You know that right?” 

“I know Dean, I know.” 

“And Cas?” 

“Yes Dean?” 

“Thanks for coming. I...I really needed to see you tonight.” 

“You’re welcome.” Cas’ voice was gentle, and Dean let it drag him down towards sleep. Maybe he would find Sammy in the morning, and together the three of them would stop the apocalypse and kill that son-of-bitch Lucifer and save the world. Maybe, just maybe everything would be ok.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning it rained. Dean awoke to the sound of it tapping on the roof above him, and he rubbed his eyes and groaned. He was very warm, and just like he’d hoped for, he’d slept without a single nightmare, and he hadn’t even had anything to drink! He tried to roll over, but there was a heavy weight pinning him in place. “Cas?” He murmured, “I can’t move. You can let go of me now.” 

He looked up at the angel and was surprised to find his eyes closed. Hadn’t Cas said that angels didn’t sleep? Dean had a sudden image of the colt, and the crack of the gunshot, and Cas falling with his expression of surprise. “Cas!” He repeated more urgently, the sleep gone from his voice entirely. “Cas stop it! Open your eyes.” 

Cas twitched slightly and his eyes popped open. He looked at Dean with that same expression of surprise, but Dean was already sighing with relief. Obviously he’d known Cas wasn’t fricken dead, but he’d just been a little scared for a minute there was all. “I thought you guys weren’t supposed to sleep!” He accused, “You know, magic angel mojo keeping you alert or whatever?” 

“I...I’m not sure what happened.” Cas admitted, looking a little lost, “I was just protecting you, and then suddenly you were yelling at me! Perhaps my vessel took over and put me to sleep. That’s never happened to me before.” He ran a hand slowly over his eyes, as if making sure he was truly awake. Dean frowned. 

“Well, can you, um, let me go?” He asked finally, gesturing to Cas’ arm which still held him down like he was afraid Dean might float off, “I need to piss like a racehorse.” 

“I don’t understand what a horse-” 

“Oh shut it Cas, just let me go to the bathroom.” 

“But Dean if you are urinating like a horse then perhaps there is something wrong. Do you want me to check?” 

“For god’s sake Cas, it’s a saying alright? There’s nothing wrong with me!” He snapped. But once Cas reproachfully moved his arm, and Dean was in the bathroom, he laughed and laughed until Cas came to over to knock on the door and ask worriedly if he was sure he was ok. 

*******

Once Dean was dressed in a new shirt that was slightly musty, but thankfully not dark with dried blood that he couldn’t stand to look at, he gathered up his things and took them out to the Impala. He expected Cas to leave, with some excuse about heavenly duties, but when he started the car and the angel slid in next to him, he just smiled and didn’t ask questions. He wanted Cas around anyway. 

The rain still fell in a heavy drizzle, and when they stopped for breakfast on the edge of town Cas stepped right in the middle of a puddle, which made Dean laugh all over again. They sat by the window and while Cas watched the rain streaking down against the backdrop of dingy warehouses, Dean watched the angel. He watched the way he blinked, and the way his hands moved on his cup of coffee. All that life. 

Dean called Bobby after they finished eating, and found out that Sam was apparently working a job somewhere in Ohio. He’d called his brother too of course, ten times at least, but he’d never answered. So they struck out down the empty highway, heading towards Ohio. Dean hoped Bobby was right, because the guilt that had settled inside of him for ditching Sam had only been made worse by that white suit, and the smile that wasn’t his. He could feel it, like a physical thing, driving him onwards. 

Morning turned into afternoon, and still the rain fell. Dean’s last tape ticked into silence, so the only sound was constant swish of the windshield wipers and the patter of water on the roof. Cas had been nearly silent since breakfast, and Dean kept glancing at him, unsure what to say, but wanting to say something. It was the angel, however, who broke the quiet first. “Dean, can I ask you something?” 

“Um, yeah.” Dean replied hesitantly. He’d been grateful for the fact that Cas hadn’t asked any questions the night before, but it was inevitable right? I mean, he had been bloody and praying like one of those crazy guys you find on street corners, so it was hardly surprising that Cas wanted to clarify a few things. 

“Why did you call me last night?” 

_Yep, just like I thought._ Dean took a deep breath, and then couldn’t manage more than, “Like I said Cas, I just wanted to see you.” Just as he’d tried to tell Sammy a million times, talking about things didn’t make them any better. Words could be strong, in the case of an exorcism or something, but Dean wasn’t going to kid himself into thinking that having a little heart to heart would magically take away the pain. He wasn’t deluded like that. 

Cas looked entirely unconvinced. Though perhaps the angel was a bit naive in some areas of humanity (Dean still laughed every time he thought of that night with the prostitutes) he certainly wasn’t stupid. Not to mention that sometimes when Dean caught Cas gazing at him with a strange faraway look in his eyes, he got the feeling the guy knew a lot more about him than he was letting on. “Why was your clothing bloody then?” Cas questioned. 

“I’m a hunter Cas. Killing things is kind of in the job description.” 

“That was human blood.” 

“How the fuck- never mind. I don’t want to know. Sometimes humans are monsters too Cas. You should know that, watching over humanity for all those years or whatever.” 

“Dean, I’m just trying to understand.” Cas said almost pleadingly, his eyes soft. Dean stared resolutely ahead at the road through the rain streaked window. He wasn’t falling for no puppy eyes. 

“Cas if you didn’t want to come you didn’t have to!” Dean snapped harshly. “I know this whole...situation,” he waved his hand between them, “Is pretty fucked up ok? And I realize that some of the things I’ve done I probably shouldn’t have, and that you don’t deserve to be dragged through my hell with me and - never mind.” He’d promised himself he didn’t want to talk, and here he was, talking. He had to stop before he said anything stupid. Before he said anything about how badly he wanted to kiss Cas again, sometime when he wasn’t desperate and angry and scared. He wanted to kiss him lazily, carefully... No. He wasn’t letting himself think about that stuff. It was wrong. 

Cas looked faintly confused, but mostly just sad. For the first time in their conversation he was the one to turn away and look out at the damp grey grain fields outside. Finally he turned back, the sadness all but invisible behind an unreadable expression. “Dean, you are are a good man. I’m sorry you have to live with so much sadness, but you shouldn’t think that I’m not here by choice. God’s orders where to save Dean Winchester from hell, but they weren’t specifically my orders. I didn’t have to come for you, but I wanted to. Just as I want to be here now, with you.” 

Dean turned in surprise, completely disregarding the road. “You rescued me from hell because you _wanted_ to? No offense man, but what’s wrong with you? Of all the things you could have spent your lovely angel eternity doing you decided to volunteer to save my lame ass from hell?” He shook his head in confused amazement, and perhaps a bit of of reverence. It was a strange thing, feeling important, even if it was just to heaven’s weirdest angel in a trench coat. 

Cas smiled faintly, which was quite a lot considering how serious he usually was. “I believe I made a good decision. Given the chance, I’d gladly do it again. You deserved another chance.” Dean rolled his eyes, but his heart was beating fast, and the fearful anger of moments before was gone. Cas wasn’t asking questions anymore, thank god, and he hadn’t said anything he shouldn’t have. Not to mention that Cas had _wanted_ to save him from hell. He had decided of his _own free will_ to fly down through worlds of pain and heat for one lousy hunter with a drinking problem and a penchant for self-loathing. This new information wasn’t helping the least bit in his struggle to not think about kissing Cas. Dean squeezed the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he still couldn’t shake the thoughts of what the skin of Cas’ neck would taste like. 

*******

It was nearly evening when they reached the small town Bobby had mentioned. Dean pulled off the highway onto a main street made up of a couple of rundown shops, an old movie theater and a diner. Whether from the rain, or the simple fact that there probably weren’t more than a few hundred residents in town, the place was pretty much deserted. There was only one motel, and when Dean pulled in to the parking lot he was grateful to find there were only 10 rooms. If Sammy was there, he wouldn’t be hard to find. 

Dean hopped out into the rain, followed by Cas, and they made their way to a small green door lit by the red light of a sign that read “Office.” Inside the small room there was a dark wooden desk decorated only by a brass bell. The old man who sat behind it had shaggy grey hair and a glare that made his whole face look unpleasant. He looked back and forth between Dean and Cas like they had personally offended him. 

“Uh, hello sir.” Dean started, stepping forward. “I was won-” 

“Now look here sonny.” The man interrupted him, “I ain’t giving you no room. This here’s a respectable town, and I ain’t lettin’ none of your type stay in my motel.” He gestured between Dean and Cas with an expression of disgust. Cas frowned, and tilted his head in confusion, but Dean flushed red and stammered quickly, “No, no me and him aren’t...I mean he’s...he’s my cousin! We’re just looking for my brother. He’s about this tall, ridiculous longish hair, wears a lot of plaid. Has he been staying here?” 

The man behind the counter frowned suspiciously, but finally nodded. “Room 5.” He said simply, gesturing to the door in a way that clearly said ‘get out of my office.’ “Thanks!” Dean said, before turning to bustle Cas back out into the rain. The angel was still frowning, and he turned to Dean as they walked down the covered walkway towards room five. “Dean, why did you tell that man I was related to you?” 

“Uh, you wouldn’t understand.” Dean said quickly. 

“But Dean-” 

“Cas, we’re here to find Sammy right now, we don’t need to talk about how some dude thinks we’re gay for each other.” It only took him a second to realize what he said, and almost immediately he wished he could crawl away somewhere and hide. _Why the fuck did I just say that?!_ He silently cursed himself. Luckily, Cas didn’t seem bothered. He simply nodded in understanding while Dean strode on, looking straight ahead, and tried not to die of mortification. 

Dean took a deep breath before knocking on the green door marked with a tarnished gold 5. He hadn’t exactly been the picture of a good brother the last time he’d seen Sammy, and he was a little worried Sam wouldn’t want to see him. _He_ hadn’t seen the future after all. Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted from one foot to the other nervously, glancing over at Cas. The angel nodded encouragingly, but it wasn’t much help. The room behind the door seemed quiet. “I don’t think he’s here Cas.” Dean was saying dejectedly when the door opened a few inches to reveal a very tired looking Sam. 

“Sammy!” Dean threw his arms around his brother without a second’s hesitation, nearly nocking him over in his enthusiasm. “Dean?” Sam said in a muffled voice, “What’s going on? Is everything ok?” Dean pulled away, holding his brother at arm’s length so he could look him up and down. Beaming, but with the feeling of tears pricking behind his eyes he nodded. “Yeah, yeah everything’s gonna be fine now.” 

“Dean are you sure you’re -” Sam started worriedly, but Dean just pulled him into another tight bear hug. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas smile faintly, and then vanish from his spot on the doorstep. He sighed. That was just like Cas, to stick around until you were just getting used to him, and then zap off out of nowhere. Dean wasn’t angry though. He had his brother back where he could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t suddenly get friendly with the devil. Not to mention Cas’ words, still racing around his head, _‘I want to be here now, with you.’_ Things were looking up. 

“So Sammy, any decent burgers in town?” Dean asked happily, finally relinquishing his grip on a very confused Sam, who only shook his head wonderingly and said “Uh, yeah. The diner on main street isn’t bad. Why? You hungry?” 

“Sammy my man, I am _always_ hungry.”


	13. Chapter 13

For a while, things slipped back into some sort of normality, if you can call hunting monsters normal that is. Dean sat on flowered motel beds eating french fries while Sam did research on his laptop. Sam glared at Dean for leaving his stuff everywhere, and Dean rolled his eyes. They killed four ghosts, two vampires and one very enthusiastic werewolf that nearly bit Dean’s finger off. Things were good. 

The only thing was, Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Cas. It wasn’t a conscious decision of course, but when they were driving down long empty highways or while he was in the shower, or cleaning his guns, the angel would just worm into his head somehow. He’d end up washing his hair three times, staring dazedly at the wall, until Sammy would bang on the door worriedly, saying something about drowning in the shower. 

Sam looked at him with worried eyes a lot actually. Sometimes he even closed his laptop or book and looked at Dean like he wanted to have a little talk, but Dean always brought something else up as quickly as he could. What could he tell his brother anyway? He was probably having a mental breakdown. And so it became another normality, Sam trying to start a conversation about Cas without actually mentioning Cas, and Dean carefully evading the topic. 

It wasn’t until almost a month later that Sam finally brought up Cas in a way that was so upfront that Dean could think of no way out of the situation. They were driving through Missouri, and it was sometime past midnight. Both of them were exhausted. They were between towns, with no good radio, and since Dean was a little tired of his tapes they sat in silence. It was so quiet in fact, that before Sam spoke, Dean had been almost certain he was asleep. 

“You miss him don’t you Dean?” Sam’s voice came out of the darkness in the passenger’s seat. Dean turned in surprise. 

“Miss who?” He said, though he knew full well who his brother was talking about. 

“Dean, don’t do this, you know who I’m talking about. Cas. You miss Cas don’t you?” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“You think I don’t notice how grumpy you’ve been lately? Oh, and maybe the fact that when I woke up last night to go to the bathroom you were muttering his name in your sleep?” Sammy looked at him triumphantly, and Dean’s eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and horror. Had he really said Cas’ name in his sleep? _Really?_

“I did not!” Dean insisted indignantly. “You’re probably just deaf or something!” It wasn’t one of his better come-backs, but Sammy had caught him off guard. He had to admit he hadn’t been in the best mood lately, which may or may not have had something do with Cas not being around. But saying the angel’s name in his sleep? That was a whole ‘nother level, and Sammy was on thin ice. 

Sam looked at him with a serious expression, but Dean could see the self-satisfaction behind his eyes. The son of a bitch knew he had him right where he wanted him. Dean sighed, and turned back to the road. “Why are you always so damn obsessed with talking about things?” 

“I’m not! I’m just a little worried about you is all. I know we both have our issues, and that life as a hunter isn’t easy, but Dean you’ve gotta sleep for more than three hours every night and stop drinking so much. And I was just wondering if it had anything to do with Cas. You guys were together when -” 

“We were not _together!_ ” Dean practically shouted, “Why the fuck is everyone so convinced that me and Cas have a thing?” 

“Dean....I never said anything about you and Cas being a thing.” Sam’s voice was hesitant, and a little surprised. 

“Oh.” Dean could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, and he was more than grateful for the darkness. “Never mind...I didn’t mean...I thought you said....I...never mind!” He stammered, completely flustered. What was wrong with him? Had he really just said that? The expression of quiet worry that had been almost constantly painted on Sammy’s face for the past few weeks turned to one a little closer to glee, and Dean knew he was completely done for. He had more than dug his own grave. He had opened the fucking gates of hell and asked Sammy to throw him in. And Sam looked pleased as punch. 

Dean tried turning on the tape player, but Sam turned it off with a pointed look, still smirking. “Dean, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about your boyfriend! I’m your brother! Didn’t I deserve to hear the good news first?” 

“Fuck you.” Dean growled, taking one hand from the wheel in an attempt to hit his brother. Sam only pressed himself up against the window, laughing. “I am _not_ Cas’ boyfriend you asshole! He’s a dude, _and_ an angel and just...no!” 

“Hmm, I seem to clearly remember finding you two in bed together a while back.” Sam said, still sporting that infuriating grin. Half of Dean wanted to punch him, but half of him was struck by the fact that he could hardly remember the last time he’d seen his brother smile like that, wide and uninhibited. It was like they were kids again, arguing over who would make a better Jedi in the back seats while dad drove. It was like they were somehow back to a time when things were broken, but there was still hope. All the fight drained out of Dean, and he suddenly couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. He had Sammy back, and everything was better. He settled for a rather unconvincing “I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you won’t remember your own name!” and then switched on the music again. This time, Sam didn’t turn it off, but he kept smiling to himself as Dean bobbed his head in time to the rhythmic guitar.

*******

It had been 37 days since the last time Dean had seen Cas (not that he was counting) and he was getting more and more restless. He justified his feelings with those horrible images of Cas bleeding to death in his arms, that still haunted his dreams nearly every night. He was getting tired of waking up shaking and sweaty, the sheets tangled around him like ropes. He just needed to see Cas again, to make extra certain he was ok. 

For a while, Sam’s teasing had been relentless, until Dean was forced to put salt in his coffee and plastic spiders in his shoes just to get back at him. But the more restless Dean grew, the less Sam slipped the angel’s name into inappropriate conversations just to make Dean blush. Even though Dean had never let slip even the tiniest details about his trip to the future, Sam seemed to know something was up. Thankfully he at least had the tact not to ask. But he started looking at Dean with those infuriating worried eyes again. 

And then, finally, on the night of the 37th day, Cas showed up. Sam was in the shower, and Dean was sprawled on his side on the bed watching horrible porn. It was so bad and unsatisfying in fact, that he was drifting off a little, hand curled under his cheek, when Cas appeared by the window. As was customary, Dean started in shock, only just catching the laptop before it went crashing to the floor. “Cas? Where the fuck have you been?” His tone was more accusatory that he meant it to be, especially since now that Cas was right there in front of him, it was even harder not to think about his lips and the curve of his jaw and that messy dark hair. 

“I’m sorry Dean. I had duties to attend to. As much as I’d like to spend all my time here with you and Sam, I have other priorities.” Cas sounded almost apologetic. 

Dean set the laptop safely on Sammy’s nightstand and took a few steps towards Cas. He wanted to be angry at the angel for ignoring every furtive prayer he’d muttered to the night once Sam was asleep. He wanted to be angry at Cas for not being there every time he woke breathlessly terrified, his sleep blunted mind sure that the angel was dead. But instead he just said, “I missed you buddy. It’s about time we had someone else around here to tease.” Cas screwed up his eyes in that little frown of confusion, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. For a guy in a too big trench coat he sure was adorable sometimes. The smile only seemed to confuse Cas even more, and when he tilted his head like he was prone to do, it only made Dean grin wider. “I do not wish to be teased.” Cas decided, and Dean erupted in laughter because Cas was back, and he’d missed him more than he’d even been able to admit to himself. The thing was, Dean Winchester didn’t miss people. Or rather, he did, but he knew that if he didn’t shove those feelings away somewhere then they would kill him. He’d learned long ago that missing people didn’t bring them back. But with Cas it was different. Lately, whenever Cas wasn’t there he felt that feeling you get when you drive off somewhere and then realize you forgot something at home, but you can’t quite remember what. Missing Cas wasn’t like missing his parents. It was’t painful, really, but it was constant, and he couldn’t file it away with all the other things he never wanted to remember. 

Dean was just opening his mouth to ask why Cas had finally decided to swing by, when the bathroom door creaked open. They both turned to see Sam shuffle out, his damp hair dripping on his t-shirt and a touch of toothpaste on his chin. He seemed tired, but he took one look at Dean and Cas, standing close but not too close, and mumbled a hasty, “Uh, I gotta...you know...go to the....library! Research.” Shooting Dean a none too subtle glance he snatched his coat, pulled on his shoes and was gone into the night. Dean turned back to Cas, and even the angel seemed to know that the library wasn’t open at 11:30pm. 

For a long and uncomfortable moment, neither of them knew what to say. Finally Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, dragged his eyes away from Cas’ intent gaze and suggested, “Wanna watch TV?” 

“Yes, I’d like that.” Cas agreed. So they both sat down with their backs against the headboard of Dean’s bed, and Dean turned on the small TV. He flipped through channel after channel until Cas asked him to stop on something about wolves in the tundra, and he obliged. The minutes stretched out and Dean couldn’t focus. While the angel gazed at the screen with rapt attention, all Dean could seem to think about was how close they were. If he moved his hand just inches, he could brush against Cas’ thigh. His fingers shook from the temptation, but he didn’t do it. He couldn’t. Even if Cas was interested in something like that, Dean knew there was no chance. He was a screwed up, alcoholic, high school dropout, and Cas was a goddamn angel. _Not that I’m even into him like that!_ Dean told himself sternly, but even he doubted that was quite true. 

It seemed strange that even with the thrill of proximity, the air almost electric between them, that Dean could get sleepy, but he did. It was a pattern it seemed. He had so much trouble sleeping, that when Cas was around and he finally felt halfway safe, he just crashed. On the scratchy TV screen the wolf pack was chasing a deer, and Dean yawned and scratched his head. He wanted to sleep, but he’d gone four nights without a single nightmare, and he knew he was pushing his luck. It was only a matter of time before the past, or maybe the future, would be back to haunt him. He could almost feel a nightmare, like it was lurking just behind his eyes, waiting to strike. 

Dean wondered suddenly if talking to Cas _would_ help. Yeah, he normally preached strongly against heart to hearts, but to be honest the weight of Cas’ death was a lot to carry, even if it had technically been barely more than a vivid dream. Maybe if he told Cas, just a little bit, it would be easier to sleep. It took him all the way until the little wolves had taken down their prey to work up the courage. “Hey Cas?” He said hesitantly. 

“Yes Dean?” The angel turned to him, blue eyes soft like he knew already. 

“Can angels read minds?” 

Cas frowned slightly, “Yes, sometimes, but usually only with physical contact and permission. If you’re worried I have invaded your privacy, then I can assure you I haven’t Dean. I only use-” 

“No Cas, I wasn’t accusing you of reading my mind. I was just...wondering...” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about the angel’s death. It was too big and too recent, and words had never been easy. He shook his head, and turned back to the TV, trying to blink the raw ache of exhaustion from his eyes. He could feel Cas’ worried gaze trained on him, but the angel didn’t press him, and for that he was half grateful and half disappointed. 

Ten minutes later, Dean was asleep, his head slipping down to rest on Cas’ shoulder and his fingers sliding unconsciously to meet the angel’s, braced on the bed between them. The wolf program ran through the credits, the TV clicked into staticky quiet, and everything was calm.


	14. Chapter 14

The nightmare started the way they always did lately, with the house. Cracked marble pillars rose up before him, and shattered windows looked down like dark eyes. Everything was so still that Dean could almost hear his own heartbeat, and the faintest sound of the breeze shifting through dead grass. All that quiet made him uneasy. As he stepped into the garden, snow began to fall. Tiny flakes dotted the ground and stung cold on his cheeks. It was light, but the gravel pathways and dead brown plants were mounded high within moments.  
Dean trudged his way through the stuff, kicking his boots roughly when icy clumps began to form along the top where they met his jeans. It seemed like ages before he reached the front door. He stamped his feet again on the stoop, then pushed the door open and stepped into a vast and dark hallway. Dean paused to shake the snow from his hair and jacket, and still everything was silent. The uneasiness grew into dread, and finally fear. He wanted to turn and run back through the snowy garden to somewhere safe, but somehow he knew that he couldn’t leave. 

With careful steps Dean headed down the hall and up a grand, curved staircase. Upstairs he found himself in another hallway, this one carpeted. Dust rose with every footfall as he turned left and walked on. It was so dim that the end of the corridor was lost in shadow, so that Dean thought it looked like it didn’t end at all but went on and on forever. 

When the first whimper came, Dean knew without a doubt that it was Cas, and that he was close by. It was an awful sound, low and broken. It was loud in the stillness. With some great strength Dean forced himself to stay calm. If he let whatever was hurting Cas get him too, things would only be worse. He quickened his pace, but was careful to keep his footfalls quiet. 

The hallway was lined with identical white doors, and Dean realized that Cas could be behind any one of them. He stepped up to the nearest one and turned the handle, but it was locked. So was the next. And the next. When Cas whimpered again, a tortured, pitiful sound, Dean’s self imposed calm started to falter. Something was hurting Cas, and it was his damn job to protect him. 

But every door was locked. As he tried one after another, Dean’s movements became more and more frantic. When Cas’ whimpers turned into screams, Dean lost it entirely and shouted “CAS?” There was no answer, save for another drawn out scream of pain. 

Dean broke into a run then, stopping only to try each door in his passing. His footsteps echoed dully on the thick carpet. Suddenly he couldn’t tell anymore if the screams were coming from ahead of him, or behind. “CAS?” He called again, louder, but still there was no answer. 

Finally he came to a door that looked just like the rest at first glance. But as he reached for the knob with hopeless fingers, he saw the blood. It ran in a thin line from the keyhole, and dripped to the floor. The carpet was stained dark all along the door frame. 

Cas’ sounds of pain had stopped abruptly, but Dean knew without a doubt that he would find the angel behind the bloody door. The only problem was, it was locked like all the rest. Dean rattled the handle, kicked the door and called Cas’ name again and again, begging him to answer. Eventually Dean took a running start and slammed his shoulder against the wood. He tumbled backwards, cursing in pain, but the door still stood perfectly intact. The silence tore at him even more than the screams, because at least before he’d known Cas was alive. 

Refusing to give up Dean slammed the door again and again until his whole body ached. He was sweaty and panting with effort when the door finally splintered with a sickening crunch. Dean scrambled through the slivers of wood, calling out to the angel again, but the sound died in the air. 

Cas was strung up from the ceiling by nasty metal hooks that ran straight through the skin of his arms and shoulders. His head was slumped forward, his eyes closed. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose, and oozed from deep gashes all up and down his neck. He didn’t move when Dean made a tiny, anguished sound, and collapsed to his knees in front of him. 

*******

Dean woke shaking so hard he had to clutch at the sheets to hold himself together. The pain was a thick snake in his chest and his breath came in sharp bursts like he’d run a long way. His mouth tasted sharp and he realized he’d bit his lip is his sleep so hard that it was bleeding. But at least he kept from crying out. 

The first thing he did was turn over frantically looking for Cas, but the angel was already reaching for him, eyes dark with worry. Dean felt those strong hands on his back and though he still shook uncontrollably, he relaxed a little. Cas was ok. Cas was breathing against his forehead, lips almost touching his sweaty skin, and he was ok. 

“Are you cold Dean?” Cas murmured after a few moments when the shaking didn’t stop. Dean shook his head, but he was grateful when Cas pulled him closer and pressed a soft kiss to the edge of his hair. He blinked up up at Cas, trying to see what he meant by kissing him, but the angel’s expression was unreadable. _He’s just being nice._ Dean told himself, but again he found himself wishing he could kiss Cas without the pretense of nightmares and fear. 

In the stillness Dean reached up hesitantly and brushed his fingers down Cas’ neck. He felt the angel shiver under his touch, but he did it again and again, remembering those bleeding gashes. It was as if with each touch he was healing the failure from his dream, trying to erase the heaviness that came from the fact that he’d let Cas die again. 

Finally the shaking stopped. Dean sighed and without thinking about it too much, pressed his lips to the place where his fingers had been. Cas’ skin tasted salty sweet against his tongue. The angel let out a tiny gasp as Dean worked his way up his jaw, and Dean found himself smiling between kisses. He was struck suddenly by the fact that even with the after effects of the nightmare holding onto him, he was kind of content. Maybe not happy, but content. Screw lying to Sammy and himself and everyone, he wanted Cas and he was damn tired of denying it. Besides, it was just some harmless kissing. 

When Cas’ hand slid under his shirt and up his back, Dean almost stopped breathing. In his surprise he dug his teeth into the angel’s neck so hard that he let out a small moan and pulled his hand away. “Sorry!” Dean whispered, but Cas’ fingers were already gliding up towards his shoulders again, the touch light, but sure. Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and touched his tongue to the place he’d bitten down on. He could taste his own blood, mixed with the slight tang of the angels’ sweat. It should have tasted goddamn awful, but somehow it didn’t. It tasted like life. 

Dean lapped at Cas’ neck a few more times, his movements sloppy with s mixture of sleep and desire. His fingers curled against the angel’s chest, searching for skin that was hidden beneath layers of trench coat, shirt, and tie. As if sensing what he wanted, Cas pulled free of Dean’s grip and sat up. He slid his arms out of the trench coat first, then loosened the tie and slipped it over his head. Wide eyed, Dean watched his every movement, nightmare forgotten. 

As Dean watched Cas, it was as if everything beyond the sweep of his back and the sensible movements of his hands faded into a blurry dark. The room, the sound of cars outside, none of it registered quite right. But Cas, with that tiny, dark curl at the base of his skull and the faint light from a street lamp outside illuminating his strong shoulders, he was clear as anything. 

It was too late to go on pretending that he didn’t feel anything for the angel. Dean knew it was more than wrong, but he was so turned on his hands were shaking. He didn’t let Cas take off his shirt. He pulled him down and fumbled with the buttons himself. _I don’t deserve this_ Dean told himself, working at the last button with barely contained urgency, _I don’t deserve Cas_. But he couldn’t stop himself. It was the same way he knew how harmful alcohol was, but fell asleep to the taste of whiskey almost every night just the same. He needed to learn some goddamn self control. 

Dean expected Cas to question, or pull away, or at the very least give him his usual frown of confusion. He did not at all plan on Cas taking charge. One minute he was pressing both palms to Cas’ chest with a kind of reverence, and the next he was flat on his back with the angel’s hands braced in the pillows on either side of his head and those blue eyes not inches from his. 

“Fucking hell Cas, gimme a little warning next time!” Dean managed in a breathless voice, before Cas was dipping his head to kiss him. Cas kissed in a way that was both graceful and rough. He kissed like he was an artist, and Dean was the sculpture he was coaxing from the clay. 

Dean almost could have laughed, thinking back over all the awesome kisses he’d had in the past. He’d been sure nothing could rival that one waitress in Alabama when he was seventeen, or Lisa with her small hands and gentle lips. But boy had he been wrong. No one had ever kissed him with so much strength that he was rendered practically helpless, only able to concentrate just enough to kiss Cas back. 

With some effort Dean untangled his hands from the blankets and buried them in Cas’ hair. Cas’ tongue pushed at the corner of his lips and he opened his mouth eagerly to let him in. He was feeling a little light-headed, and he needed to catch his breath, but he didn’t want Cas to pull away. He shouldn’t have worried though, for Cas obviously had no intention of going anywhere. Dean could feel the weight of him pressing him down, feel one foot, still in it’s shiny dress shoe, wrapped around his ankle. He could feel every one of Cas’ short, hot breaths in his mouth and he breathed back into him easily, his fingers finding that soft hair at the back of Cas’ neck and stroking it with eager fingers. 

It seemed much too soon when Cas pulled away, chest heaving and eyes dark with some emotion Dean had never seen there before. It was something like adoration, and that both terrified Dean and made him want to reach for the button of those tidy black pants and let go of it all entirely. If he was going to give up every bit of manliness he’d ever fought for, then he might as well go all in right? And the tightness in his own pants was starting to get uncomfortable. _He’s a fucking angel,_ Dean told himself roughly, _I can’t be doing this, I can’t. God would be pissed right? Angels aren’t supposed to fuck around with people like me._ But even so, Dean couldn’t tear his gaze from Cas’ eyes, or his lips when he licked them absently, still staring at Dean. 

Neither of them dared to move for a long time. Finally, Dean shifted and murmured, “Um...Cas? What was that?” 

“That was kissing.” Cas blinked, frowning like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Dean laughed. “Cas you know what I meant. Why are you still here? Why’d you kiss me like that man?” Half of him screamed at himself to just shut up and stop ruining the moment, but he had to know. Cas looked down at him for a second longer before rolling carefully off of him and stretching out on his back. Their hands were pressed together between their bodies, but Dean bit back the urge to grab Cas’. He was going to turn into a freaking sap if he wasn’t careful. 

Cas was quiet, looking up at the dark ceiling, for a long time. Dean was starting to get worried, when he turned his head and said softly. “I want you to be happy Dean. I do not enjoy seeing you wake up so frightened like that, and in the shows you watch on TV people....sometimes kiss other people to make them feel better. I apologize if I over stepped my bounds.” 

It wasn’t exactly the answer Dean had been hoping for, though he wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected him to say. _You wanted him to tell you he loved you,_ some tiny, treacherous part of his brain whispered, but he quickly shoved that down. This was not about freaking love. Dean Winchester didn’t do love. “N-no Cas, don’t apologize. It was...nice.” He managed. 

It didn’t feel like the right time anymore to be imagining Cas’ hands sliding down his pants, but something had to be done about his erection so Dean sighed and mumbled something about the bathroom before climbing out of bed. He padded barefoot across the cold floor, noting Sam’s empty bed, before shutting the bathroom door and pressing his back against it. He didn’t bother to turn on the light. 

There were no windows in the small bathroom that smelled of bleach and soap and some sickly sweet perfume. The sink leaked with a constant _drip, drip, drip_ somewhere to Dean’s left. He scrunched his eyes closed, and tried not to imagine that the hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans were Cas’ instead of his own. But the thought only made him tug his pants down with more urgency. In the murky darkness of the backs of his eyelids he could still see that faint outline of shoulders. Cas had glowed somehow, like his very skin was light, and even safely out of sight of him, Dean was more entangled than he’d thought possible. He didn’t even swing that way for god sakes, but all he could see was Cas. Only Cas. 

Dean’s jean’s slid down around his ankles, and he slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers without pretense. He tried to keep it very clinical, moving his hand in even, regulated strokes. His hands weren’t warm the way Cas’ had been on his back. It didn’t matter that he forced himself to picture the girls he usually would, long hair and curving hips somehow became strong hands and those blue, blue eyes. 

In Dean’s head the dark bathroom filled up with sunlight and Cas stood just in front of him, both hands tucked in his boxers, and his head tilted slightly in something that for once wasn’t confusion. Dean moved his hand faster, sloppier, all pretense of control gone. He could picture Cas so vividly that he said his name again and again in his head, _Cas, Cas, Cas._

Dean didn’t realize that he’d been gasping the angel’s name out loud until there was a faint, but steady, knock on the door and Cas’ voice slid through the haze of arousal in his head like a knife, “Dean? Is everything ok in there?”


	15. Chapter 15

Dean froze. His hand was still shoved in his boxers but his eyes popped open in the darkness and his cheeks burned. _Shit shit shit what am I? A fifteen year old who can’t fucking jack off without being caught?_ Dean silently cursed himself. What was he supposed to tell Cas? That he couldn’t even get off on porn anymore unless he imagined all the girls were dark haired angels? No. That was obviously not going to happen. 

“Go away Cas.” He finally rasped after a pause, “I’m fine.” Cas, however, apparently having learned from the Winchesters, decided it would be a good idea to shove right through the door anyway. Dean, of course got the worst end of this decision, with his pants around his ankles and his weight on the door. He tried to grab at the corner of the counter in the dark, but missed and staggered forward, dropping heavily to his knees. The sting of cold tile definitely kind of ruined the moment. 

Dean wanted to be mad at Cas. He wanted to yell at him for being so goddamn childishly ignorant, but then Cas was on the floor beside him with such an intense expression of worry, that he burst out laughing instead. What else could he do? He was on his knees half naked with one hand still warm from where he’d jerked it from his boxers, and laughing seemed like his only possible option. Either that or curl up in utter embarrassment. The laughing only seemed to worry Cas even more. He put a hand, gentle, on Dean’s shoulder and tried to turn him towards him. “Dean? Dean look at me. I said I was sorry about kissing you...” 

Against his better judgement, Dean turned, shifting until his knees touched the angel’s just barely. Cas’ eyes were only two dark pools in the dimness, but Dean could feel the worry in them anyway. The poor guy actually seemed to think he was having a breakdown or something. But Cas was still shirtless, and that quieted Dean’s hysterical laughter pretty quickly. He swallowed thickly, and chewed at his bottom lip. Once again he could feel that frighteningly exhilarating feeling of the world shrinking down to merely the dark wall of the bathroom, and Cas’ breathing. He had to shrug the hand from his shoulder, lest he lose himself entirely. _How, in hell’s name, am I still turned on at a time like this?_ He wondered, eyes fixed on Cas. “I told you to go away.” 

It wasn’t until that moment that Cas’ eyes flicked downwards and took in Dean’s bare legs. He tilted his head for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite understand what was happening, and then his eyes widened. “Dean I thought...” 

“Cas buddy you can’t walk in on a guy when he’s in the bathroom. That’s just common knowledge!” 

“I apologize. I thought you were -” 

“What Cas? Going crazy? Welcome to the world of the Winchesters. Things are always goddamn messed up around here. But you didn’t have to come bursting in when I was in the middle of jacking off to the thought of you in -” Dean stopped abruptly, realizing what he was saying. “I mean, never mind!” He backtracked quickly. _Damn._

If it was possible, Cas’ eyes widened even more. Dean took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. If he could handle every bad son of a bitch in the book, then he could handle his best friend who he kind of, maybe, possibly had a thing for walking in on him with his pants down. The trick was just to keep from freaking out. But there was a tremor in his hands, and he wanted to laugh again, or cry, or press himself into Cas’ arms. He took a shaky breath, and ran a hand over his eyes. No, he couldn’t do any of that and still keep ahold of his pride. 

Instead, Dean struggled to his feet and dragged his pants back up, his face hot. He knew Cas was watching him, but he kept his eyes pointedly on the floor. If Cas wasn’t going to leave, then he had to, before he said anything else stupid. The dizzying desire he felt whenever Cas was within reach was terrifying. It wasn’t so much that Cas was an angel, because who didn’t want to be able to say they’d slept with an angel, but simply that he didn’t want to let himself need anyone. He needed his brother, loved that nerdy son of a bitch unconditionally, and look at the trouble that had got him in. But letting himself need someone besides family was strictly not acceptable. He wasn’t going to let anyone else get hurt because he loved them, and wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt him either. People always left, and he couldn’t let himself get so attached. He certainly couldn’t keep waking up with not only a hope, but an assumption that Cas would be there with his quiet protectiveness. That wasn’t something he was allowed to want, let alone rely on. 

Without looking at Cas, Dean stepped past him and headed back into the room. The lamp next to his bed burned a dull yellow, but the rest of the room stood in shadow. He hadn’t noticed on his rapid scramble to the bathroom, but Sammy’s bed was still empty. He couldn’t decide if he was supposed to be worried or grateful. He told himself he’d decide that in the morning. The clock’s green glow read 3:57 AM, and he wanted to sleep. Cas stood in the bathroom door and watched as he stripped off his jeans again and crawled back under the tangled of sheets and musty floral blankets, silent. 

Despite the sort of heaviness in his chest, that mixture of what he took to be fear and longing, Dean was, for once, tired enough that sleep came easily. When he felt the bed move next to him, felt the faintest touch of breath on the back of his neck he was too close to drifting off to protest. He simply sighed sleepily and pulled the covers more tightly around his neck. If Cas’ arm found it’s hesitant way around his waist he couldn’t tell, but he didn’t pull away. 

*******

The next morning Dean woke to the door opening carefully, and the soft tap of footsteps. He groaned and blinked groggily. His eyelids felt thick and heavy, like he’d slept too long, but waking up seemed worse. “Sammy? ‘s that you?” He grumbled, pushing himself up onto one elbow. The first thing he noticed was that Cas was gone. He sighed. His brother sat on the edge of the bed opposite, flipping through a book, but Cas was gone. _Typical._

“Morning Dean.” Sam sang cheerfully, looking up from the pages. “I ran into Cas on my way in this morning.” He gave Dean a very pointed look. 

“So?” Dean said, his careless shrug coming off as pretty unconvincing. 

“Dean you do realize its 10 AM don’t you? What, were you having a nice little chat about the coming apocalypse for the entire night?” His eyes sparkled wickedly, and Dean was seriously considering getting out of bed to punch him. 

“You shut up right now Sammy.” He warned. 

Sam only laughed. “Dean you don’t think I really care do you? Cas is nice. Yeah, maybe a little strange, but he’s a good a guy. If you want to cuddle with him all night I seriously have no objections.” 

“You listen here.” Dean shot back vehemently. “Cas is my fucking friend, and nothing else. We were just watching some dumb shit about wolves ok? And I don’t even care about him. He...he could go back to heaven right now and never come back and I wouldn’t even notice.” The lies were rough in the back of his throat, but if his brother could tell that easily how attached he was to Cas lately, then things were definitely getting out of hand. But he immediately pictured Cas looking betrayed, and he added in a quiet voice, “Ok, I didn’t mean that. I don’t want him to never come back,” just in case Cas was somehow listening. 

Sam was quiet, and he didn’t try to tease Dean again, for which Dean was incredibly grateful. The more he could avoid thinking about Cas the better. But half of him was sad that the angel had zapped off again without saying goodbye. No matter how much he pretended it didn’t matter, he hated it more than anything when Cas did that. _How hard is it to just say ‘See you later, I’ve got something to do.’?_

“Lets go get some breakfast Sam.” Dean said finally, desperate to distract himself, and Sammy too. “I could use some bacon and pancakes right about now, you hungry?” Sam studied him for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether he should make Dean explain himself, but decided against it. “Alright Dean. I’m gonna take a quick shower, and then we can go. I passed a little diner just down the road, looked like our kind of place. Rosa’s I think it was called?” 

“I, uh, need a shower too.” Dean decided. “Don’t take too long.” He needed to wash the feeling of Cas’ hands from his skin, not to mention the slight stickiness in his boxers. Sam nodded, and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door with a click. 

Dean sighed, and stretched out on his back again. The spot next to him had grown cold, and really tried not to wish Cas was still there, curled up with his hair all standing on end like it did sometimes. He turned on his side, hand moving absently over the wrinkled sheets. Just then, he caught sight of a piece of paper, folded into a small square and tucked half under the covers. Frowning, Dean picked it up, and rolled onto his stomach to unfold it. It was a piece of motel stationary, torn neatly in half. The handwriting wasn’t one he recognized, it wasn’t Bobby’s messy scrawl, or Sam’s neat hand. It was simple and smooth, and strangely beautiful. Dean’s first thought was that some woman had left it there. He smoothed it out with one palm, and then read it, unconsciously mouthing the words. 

_Dean,_   
_I apologize for leaving again. Things are becoming chaotic in heaven, and I must continue my search for God before it’s too late. I know he’s out there Dean, like you told me. I have to find him. I want things to be peaceful in heaven once more. My brothers are unbending in their belief that the apocalypse must happen, as was foretold, but you have convinced me that there is hope for another outcome. That is why I must find my father, for I believe he would know what to do. Be safe. I’ll be watching over you, as always._   
_Castiel_

Dean stared at the words for a long time, before rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath, “For god sakes what is this? The _Notebook?_ ” But he read it three more times, and after he was showered and dressed, he tucked it safely in his jeans. He spent the morning with his hands in his pockets, fingers skimming against the cool paper. _I’ll watch over you._ The words settled in the back of his mind, more comforting than creepy. And it was ok, thinking about Cas as just an angel keeping him safe. Just like his mom had always said at bedtime when he was small. 

Dean and Sam ate breakfast leisurely, talking about things like whether Kirk or Spock would make a better hunter, and carefully avoiding the topic of the apocalypse. It was nice. Then they climbed in the car and drove off towards Wellington, Ohio for what looked like a new case. Dean turned on some AC/DC. Sam leaned back and closed his eyes with a comfortable sigh. 

A few hours later Dean cleared his throat, “Hey Sam?” 

Sam opened his eyes, “Hmm?” 

“You think Cas can hear everything we say, or just when we’re specifically praying to him?” 

“I don’t know Dean, why?” 

“Oh, uh, no reason. Just wondering.” Dean said quickly, shrugging and turning back to the road. Sam smiled. “Dean, Cas knows you care about him, even if you deny it. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Why would you think I’d be worrying about that?” 

“Dean, I’m your brother. How clueless do you think I am?” 

Dean scowled furiously, but didn’t try to deny in again. Maybe he had been worrying about it, but Sammy wasn’t supposed to know that. He was in way too deep already, and he needed to pull himself free as quickly as possible.


	16. Chapter 16

It was somewhere past 1:00 PM when Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Wellington Inn. Sam was asleep with his cheek against the window, and Dean smiled at him fondly, shifting the car into park and turning the key so the rumble of the engine died to quietness. It was like those days, Dean thought, when Sam was only five or six, and he’d fall asleep every time they got in the car. Dean would glance back from the front seat where his dad let him sit some days when he was good, to find his little brother fast asleep, his head lolling at what could only be a painfully uncomfortable angle. As if sensing eyes on him, Sam made a sleepy sound of annoyance and lifted his head to peer at Dean. The side of his face was pink where it had been pressed to the glass, and Dean stifled a laugh. 

“Wake up sleepy head, we’re here!” Dean grinned, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I know you girls need your beauty sleep, but I need you on that laptop pronto, figuring out who we need to go talk to. We’ve got a job here Sammy.” Sam scowled, looking unimpressed. “What’s wrong with _you_ ? Can’t _you_ do some research for once?” 

“I’ve gotta go find some lunch. Driving all morning is tiring and I need a good burger.” 

“For god sakes Dean, why do I always do all the work around here while you sit around eating junk food and watching porn?” 

“Because you’re the little brother.” Dean sang with a wink, his grin widening, as if that explained everything. “Let’s get us a room, and then you’ll be golden to find out what we need to do alright?” He slid from the car and strode towards the motel office, not bothering to check if Sammy was following him. His brother announced his presence a few seconds later with the slam of a car door and footsteps that clearly belayed his annoyance. Dean turned to him, and raised an eyebrow. “C’mon Sammy, I’ll bring you lunch. Don’t get all mopey on me. You _like_ doing research and don’t even try to deny it.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, still scowling slightly, but didn’t protest. “How you ever thought you could hunt on your own is beyond me.” He grumbled, and Dean sobered, looking away quickly. He didn’t need to be reminded of that godawful trip to the future, or those nights in painfully quiet motel rooms without his brother to poke fun at. “Shut up Sammy.” Dean tried to sound playful, but it fell a little flat. The truth was that Sammy had a point. Dean _did_ need him. He could get by on his own, but it wasn’t the same. Everything felt flat and almost colorless without his brother around. If Sam noticed the hint of pain in Dean’s voice, however, he didn’t comment, instead he merely pushed past him and through the office door that jangled with discordant cheer. 

In their room, Sam plopped down on the first bed and pulled out his laptop. Dean knew he’d only argued because that’s what brothers did. The guy loved his research. Let him loose in a library and you might not see him for a few days. Dean had never understood books the way Sammy did. It wasn’t that he never read, he loved a good fantasy novel now and then and he may or may not have cried at the end of Of Mice and Men in 8th grade, but he could never seem to quite pull himself in the way his brother could. People talked of books as an escape, but for Dean there was no escape. His life was one long chain of pain and mistakes and fear and fighting and the long, long nights, and no amount of small printed words could cut him free of that. So mostly he watched shitty TV and didn’t bother with reading. 

After fetching burgers from the little red diner next door, Dean sprawled out on his own bed to think. He had a habit of throwing himself head first at things, but he figured that what with his brother just getting over that demon blood stint, the coming apocalypse, and whatever the hell was between him and Cas, a plan was in order. He popped fries into his mouth one by one, chewing thoughtfully. Sam, he decided first, would be just fine. All he needed was someone looking out for him, which Dean could do easy as pie. He’d been doing it all his life after all. The apocalypse, well, that was a slightly bigger issue, but Dean figured they’d find a way somehow. Bobby was always on the lookout for new leads, and Lucifer and Michael couldn’t battle it out without vessels, so as long as the Winchesters steered clear of the angels and didn’t say yes under any circumstances, things would be fine. And if all else failed, they could always hole up somewhere with some beers and some pretty girls and wait for the world to burn right? 

Cas though, he was where Dean got lost. He didn’t even want to think about him too much, because sometimes he got a bit carried away. He let Cas into his head and before long he was picturing the feel of buttons coming undone in his fingers, and skin like the satin sheets he never got to sleep in. Sometimes he couldn’t even look at the sky without thinking of the way Cas blinked when he was confused, dark lashes against bright eyes. He’d find himself staring blankly at nothing, his fists clenched, something warm curling in his stomach and an angel in his head. It was worrisome to say the least. 

But despite that, Dean had told himself he was making a plan, and he was going to make one, dammit. He couldn’t let himself keep falling on Cas whenever he was weakest, without some sort of guidelines in place. Kissing was one thing, Dean had kissed plenty of people who perhaps he shouldn’t have, but last night he’d come dangerously close to shoving his hand down Cas’ pants and that was a whole ‘nother flavor of unacceptable. Maybe he wasn’t known for his self control, or his ability to follow the rules either, but Dean was determined to give himself some rules to fall back on anyway, for the next time things got dangerous. 

First, he reminded himself, he was not allowed to get any more attached to Cas. Yes, the angel had literally pulled his soul from hell and rebuilt his body with his own hands, but that was no excuse. Just because Cas was an angel didn’t mean he couldn’t get hurt, and Dean was positive that the closer they got the more likely it was that something would happen to him. What person close to Dean _hadn’t_ gotten hurt? No one, that’s who. And if there was anyone Dean wanted to protect more than anything, besides Sam of course, it was Cas. If his inability to deal with a couple of nightmares got the angel in trouble somehow....No. Dean didn’t want to think about it. 

Secondly, he needed to be careful with the praying. Being able to summon someone with a few mumbled words had its dangers, despite it’s inconsistent effectiveness. It certainly didn’t help with the not getting attached issue. More and more lately Dean would wake and the first thing he’d think of was Cas, which in and of itself was bad enough. But if he got it into his head that he could have Cas whenever he wanted him, things would be even worse. _So no more praying,_ Dean chastised himself, _unless it has to do with a hunt, or in the case of an emergency._

“Hey Dean.” Dean was snapped from his thoughts by his brother motioning for him to come look at something. He put down his fries and sidled over reluctantly, grumbling “What?” 

“I found something. So, this guy died a few days ago right, and his wife apparently said in her testimonial that they were having a nice morning in when the Hulk burst through the door and tore her husband limb -” 

Dean snorted. “Hold on, did you just say the _Hulk?_ ” 

“Yeah, the Hulk.” 

“You mean like the green-monster-of-rage Hulk?” 

“Do you know any other Hulks?” 

“No but...but don’t you think that’s a little weird, even for us. I’m fine with demons and ghosts and all that, but the Hulk isn’t real. Everyone knows that Sammy.” 

Sam sighed, closing the laptop. “Well that’s just what she said in her report. Maybe we should go talk to her.” 

“I think you should go to the police station first and see what the detectives have to say. She’s probably just a psycho.” Dean instructed, heading back to his bed and flopping down on top of the covers. “Call me if you find anything.” 

The expression Sam shot in his direction was anything but understanding. In fact he kind of looked like he wanted to drag Dean of the bed and give him a few good punches. He huffed, shaking his head like some angry lion, his shaggy hair flopping, and then sighed. “Fine Dean. You stay here and do nothing while I work. Sounds great.” The door slammed shut behind him, and Dean rolled his eyes. 

As soon as Dean heard the car rumble to life outside he got up and turned on the TV, before curling up on his stomach with his feet up on the headboard to get back to his planning. He didn’t get very far, however, when he realized what was on. _Doctor Sexy M.D._

Dean didn’t consider himself a Doctor Sexy fan. Well, maybe he’d seen almost every single episode, and he knew all the characters and what they liked and didn’t like, and who was secretly in love with who, but he wasn’t a _huge_ fan or anything. It was just entertaining. He propped his chin in his hands and watched, fixated. The camera panned over the outside of the Seattle Mercy hospital, before switching to a shot of Doctor Sexy himself, striding down a hallway looking very professional and, well, _sexy._

Dean was so engrossed in the drama of a new intern who was unwittingly breaking up a longstanding relationship with her constant flirting that he physically jumped when Sam sidled back through the door. “Back already?” Dean said and he jabbed the remote at the TV to turn it off with a slightly guilty expression. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed or anything, he just didn’t think Sammy would understand was all. Sam raised an eyebrow, like he could tell Dean had been watching a girly show, but didn’t comment, thank god. 

“The police are clueless, like usual.” Sam explained, taking off his jacket and plopping down across from Dean. “They can’t figure out what could have ripped a guy’s arm off without leaving any puncture wounds. Rules out animals anyway. Now, obviously I don’t think it was the Incredible Hulk, but the wife might not be entirely crazy either. Something killed her husband, and by the sound of it it certainly wasn’t human.” He pulled out his laptop and flipped it open in a smooth motion. Frowning at the screen, he typed a few things and then glanced up at Dean. “So what do you think?” 

“I don’t know. Son of a bitch sounds strong though.” Dean scratched his head idly, thinking. “What do we know that could be taken for the freaking Hulk in broad daylight? Shifter maybe?” Pulling their father’s journal from the bag next to his bed and flipping through it, Dean sighed dramatically. He still didn’t know what to do about Cas, he was missing the end of his episode of Doctor Sexy, and now he had to go out there and fight something that could rip a guy in half and he didn’t know how to kill it _. Just lovely._

The two were quiet for a while, Dean flipping roughly through pages of crude drawings and scrawled handwriting, and Sam scrolling through websites of lore and myths. Finally Sam ran a hand through his hair and decided, “You know, I think we should probably talk to the wife. Maybe she can fill us in on some detail the police left out of the reports that could help us figure out how to kill this thing, or at the very least help us figure out what it is.” 

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” 

“Suits?” 

“Nah, don’t want to scare the lady.” 

“But we don’t want to look unprofessional either, or she might not talk.” 

“C’mon Sammy, lets just go before this thing kills again.” 

*******

“Well that was a waste of time.” Dean said decisively, starting the engine and pulling out into traffic with an expression of annoyance. “I don’t care what she saw, there is just no way the Hulk decided to stop by for some morning tea. There’s no such thing as the Hulk!” They had questioned her again and again until Dean was half ready to resort to torture, but she hadn’t told them anything useful. 

“So maybe she was a little crazy,” Sam nodded his agreement, “but she did just watch her husband die. You gotta give her that.” 

“C’mon Sammy. I watched you die, I watched Dad die, I watched Mom die, and you don’t see me going around telling people they were killed by Batman or something.” Dean snorted. Sam looked unamused, and Dean didn’t really blame him. Sometimes his dark humor came out with extra dark and not a whole lot of humor. “Ok, fine, so she’s in shock, I get it, but we’ve still got a monster on our hands and we can’t afford to -” Dean stopped short as the black contraption on the dashboard that he’d wired to pick up local police radios crackled to life. 

_“Disturbance down by the old Miller warehouse on 2nd street. Not sure exactly what’s going on but you might want to send backup. I’m going in.”_

_“How many guys do you want? I could send you Max and Marcus.”_

_“Yeah, that should be - holy SHIT! what the hell?! Ok I take that back, gimme everyone you got. Everyone should see this.”_ There was another crackle and then the sound died. Dean looked at Sam wide-eyed. “You think this might be our guy?” 

“Sounds like our kind of gig. We better go check it out.” 

The roads near the factory were strangely empty, which struck Dean as odd. If the cop had asked for as many guys as possible, then where were all the sirens? He became even more suspicious when they pulled into the parking lot of the only abandoned warehouse on 2nd to find the parking lot completely deserted. Dean parked the Impala, grabbed his knife, and stepped out onto the cracked concrete. Everything was still. The only movement came from a brightly colored candy wrapper that skittered along the ground a ways off, pushed by the breeze. 

“You sure this is the right warehouse?” Sam asked, expression just as wary as his brother’s. Dean only shrugged. “Well, the lack of police cars, or people, or anything at all is kind of weird, but I’m pretty damn sure this is the right place -see?” He gestured to faded blue letters above the door, “Didn’t the cop say Miller’s?” 

“Yeah but -” 

“Yes I know it looks like a trap, but we gotta check it out, just in case right?” Dean sauntered round to the back of the car and riffled around until he came up with the gun he wanted and some extra bullets. “So maybe this thing has access to the police radios somehow and tricked us into coming here, but that doesn’t mean that the bastard isn’t in there waiting, and we can go kill it.” Dean rolled his shoulders back a few times, cocked his gun and then turned to Sam. “You ready?” Sam looked unconvinced, but he shrugged and followed Dean regardless. 

When Dean pulled open the rusty blue doors with their chipping paint, and stepped into the shiny floored hallway of what appeared to be a hospital, he had to admit he was rather surprised. As a hunter, you get used to some pretty weird shit, but this was something else. He turned to Sam, and his eyes widened. “Sammy man, why the hell are you wearing _scrubs?_ ” 

“Dean, you are too you know.” Sam shot back, “But more importantly where are we, and how the hell did we get here?” 

Dean’s first thought was the angels, and their little time travel stints. He remembered quite vividly waking up in that motel room hung with cobwebs, and looking out a window at a broken world. Maybe this was just another one of Zachariah’s tricks to try and convince him to say yes to Michael, though he couldn’t see how throwing him in a hospital would help, not matter how unattractive his doctor’s outfit was. Suddenly, however, Dean remembered someone who could make whole realities out of thin air, who could have easily created a hospital inside an old warehouse. “The trickster, Sammy!” He said triumphantly, pumping his fist. “It’s gotta be him! Remember how when we met him the first time, he lured us in with ridiculous things like aliens? He could have made a Hulk. This is the same thing all over again!” 

Sam’s expression grew serious. “If you’re right, then I am going to kill that bastard.” He growled vehemently, with uncharacteristic anger. 

“Alright alright, perfectly fine by me, but we gotta find him first.” Dean pointed out, trying to figure out why the hospital looked so familiar. _Probably just because I’ve been in so many goddamn hospitals,_ he decided when he couldn’t seem to place it. “So I guess we gotta just explore and keep an eye out for tricksters.” He gestured down the empty hallway that smelled of antiseptic and floor wax. “After you, doctor.” 

They only made it a few hundred feet before a woman in scrubs that matched theirs came around the corner in a hurry, and Dean nearly choked. _“Oh my god.”_ He murmured in awe. “Oh my god.” His brother turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously Dean? C’mon man. We’re trying to kill a trickster here. Not exactly the time to be checking out the woman.” 

“No, no Sam you don’t understand!” Dean stammered, staring at her, “She’s...that’s... that’s Doctor Piccolo!” Sam shrugged shaking his head, “Sorry Dean, I’ve no idea who that is...” 

“Doctor Piccolo! You know, from Doctor Sexy M.D.” Dean kept blinking like there was something in his eye and if he could just get it out, things would make more sense. 

“Doctor Sexy M.D?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell is that?” 

“It’s...well....a TV show” Dean said slowly, still blinking, his lips drawn up in a line of confusion. Being inside an imaginary hospital was one thing, but being inside a TV show? Dean was starting to think he was going crazy. The expression of disbelief on his brother’s face wasn’t helping things either. Sam’s eyebrows rose higher and higher, and then finally he burst out laughing. His head tilted back and he clutched at Dean’s sleeve. “Dean you’re crazy!” He managed, wiping his eyes. 

He sure wasn’t laughing when the woman who looked exactly like Doctor Piccolo strode up, all confidence, and slapped him though. He blinked like a hamster who’d spent it’s whole life in a safe little cage only to break free and realize that the bars weren’t, in fact, the edges of the world. The woman stared at him for a long second, before turning with a squeak of her canvas shoes on the polished linoleum, and striding off down the door-lined hallway. Then it was Dean’s turn to snort. 

After their strange meeting with Doctor Piccolo, Sam seemed even more determined to find the trickster and kill him as slowly and painfully as possible. Dean wasn’t all that worried, because even if his sanity was in question, it was ridiculously cool to be inside a TV show. He ran his fingers along the smooth white walls, jumped a few times and even kicked an empty wheelchair sitting in a corner just to see if he could find a chink in the reality, but everything held. 

“This is so cool!” Dean decided, half skipping down another hallway ahead of Sam, nodding at doctors who hurried past like busy insects in their pale blue scrubs. “They think we’re real doctors Sammy! Look at me, I didn’t even graduate high school and now I’m a doctor. Dad would choke on his whiskey.” 

“Dean, this isn’t a game. We’re on a hunt here.” Sam’s expression was somewhere between annoyance and humor. “Aww c’mon man!” Dean interjected, turning to trip along backwards in front of his brother with his arms outstretched and a grin on his face. “You don’t gotta be such a downer all the time. This is fu-” He didn’t get to finish, however, because someone stepped from the elevator they’d just passed, and he forgot entirely what he was going to say. The man was dressed in the same neat blue scrubs as everyone else, covered in a neat white doctor’s jacket, but his feet were shod in soft brown leather cowboy boots that clicked on the floor as he walked. 

Dean snatched at his brother’s arm, heart beating fast. “Sam!” He hissed, “Sam it’s him! It’s Doctor Sexy!” Sam looked a little confused, but Dean was too distracted to care, because he was going to meet Doctor Sexy! The _real Doctor Sexy!_ Only the most prestigious, most attractive, and most sought after doctor in all of Seattle Mercy Hospital. Dean couldn’t breathe right. He unconsciously smoothed the wrinkles from the front of his shirt, nervous fingers skimming like dragonflies over the stiff material. He kept his gaze nailed firmly to the floor, because he didn’t want to be caught staring did he? 

Dean didn’t dare look up until those perfectly polished brown boots stopped mere inches from his own shoes. He took a breath, but jerked his head up when he heard a strange little gasp from his brother. He was not at all prepared for what he saw. Instead of the rugged Doctor Sexy, he was met with a shock of dark hair, two blue eyes and an expression of utter bewilderment that was probably mirrored on his own face. “Cas?” He choked, his voice coming out as an embarrassing sort of squeak. “Cas w-what are _you_ doing here?”


	17. Chapter 17

More than a full minute passed before any of the three of them could think of a coherent sentence. A stretcher on wheels came clattering past, with a whole fleet of doctors and nurses shouting things about blood pressure and a distraught looking woman in a red coat jogging along behind. An old man stumbled by in the opposite direction dragging a sniffling little boy by the hand. The whole hospital seemed alive with activity, but Dean just gaped at Cas, and Cas frowned at Dean, and Sam stared back and forth between the two of them like he was missing out on some elaborate joke. 

Finally Cas pursued his lips, shook his head the tiniest bit and said, “We need to get out of here.” And just like that the angel was striding off down the hall with his white doctor’s coat flapping behind him like a goddamn flag, leaving Dean still gaping and Sam looking nearly as baffled. “Are we gonna follow him?” Sam asked, flapping his hand in the direction of Cas’ retreating figure, but Dean was already sprinting after him, shouting “Cas, hold on dammit, you gotta help us!” 

When Dean caught up with the angel he was breathing hard, and he grabbed a handful of Cas’ sleeve to stop him. “Cas where are you going? What the hell man? You wanna maybe explain how we’re here, and how you’re here and why the fuck you’re dressed up and Doctor Sexy?” 

“Who’s Doctor Sexy?” Cas asked, head drawn to the side like his confusion had a physical weight to it. Dean bit his lip and pretended Cas was just a wall or a floor or something decidedly un-sexy. It didn’t help much. He didn’t know what it was about that little head tilt that made his world feel tilted, made him feel shaky and hapless and frighteningly out of control. He laughed uncomfortably. “Apparently you are, now you gonna explain why the tricksters got us here? Assuming it is the trickster that is. 

“Yes.” Cas nodded, “You are correct. This place is certainly the work of my brother, but as to why he -” 

“Hold it right there feathers, did you just say _brother?_ You mean to tell me you’re _related_ to that sweet-toothed scumbag?” Dean voice was full of disbelief. “Does that mean he’s an angel?” 

“Yes.” Cas intoned, apparently oblivious to Dean’s shock. “Gabriel is my brother.” 

“Well, that’s great!” Dean decided, only half sarcastic. “Maybe you can tell him to stop being a dick and let us go. Not that being a doctor isn’t cool, and you do make a pretty good Doctor Sexy but...” 

“I’m afraid he is unlikely to listen to me.” Cas said seriously, but Dean felt a flash of pride as he watched the angel straighten up and puff out his chest ever so slightly in pleasure once he realized that Dean was complimenting him. “Gabriel is of a higher rank in heaven than me, though he doesn’t spend his time with heaven’s battles.” Cas continued. “He is not unkind, but he likes his tricks and games, and he has no qualms with making things hard for those who don’t play along.” 

“So what, we’re just supposed to run around operating on people and making out in supply closets like they do on Doctor Sexy?” Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Cas flush a little at the words ‘making out.’ 

“I suppose so yes.” Cas said slowly, “We must play along until my brother tells us to do otherwise.” He nodded at Sam, who had caught up and stood behind Dean like a soldier awaiting orders. Dean turned to him, patting his arm. “Well Sammy, looks like we’re gonna play doctors!” He couldn’t help but be a little excited at the prospect, despite his bother’s look of anything but enthusiasm. “C’mon it’ll be fun. Go find a hot nurse or something, and me and Cas will head down to reception and see what we can learn about this place.” 

“Really Dean?” 

“Ok fine, go find some poor cancer patient to comfort then, I don’t know.” Dean half snapped, “Just do something while we -” He was interrupted yet again that day, this time by a small boy of not more than four or five, tugging on his sleeve and saying “Doctor?” 

A little taken aback Dean froze for a second, before kneeling down, “Yeah, what is it kid?” 

“I need you to come give me my medicine now. My head hurts again.” It was only then that Dean noticed that bandage sticking from the boy’s shock of orange-blonde curls, and the way he swayed slightly on his tiny legs. “Yeah of course buddy, where’s your room?” Dean asked gently. The boy frowned for a moment, then pointed one stubby finger down the hall. “Alright. Lets go then.” Dean put a hand on the boy’s frail back, feeling birdlike bones through the thin layer of white hospital gown, and guided him past Sam and Cas. He was apparently a doctor for the day, so he figured he might as well do his job. He felt Cas fall into step beside him, and he glanced at him with a small I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-I’m-doing-right-now shrug, but Cas just smiled faintly, and kept pace with them, quiet despite his hard soled boots. 

Working together they got the kid back into his bed and Dean administered what he could only hope was the correct medication. They couldn’t find any parents, or even a nurse, but after he’d swallowed the blue liquid Dean handed him in a paper cup, the boy curled up a ball like a tired cat and went straight to sleep. Dean reached out and stroked his hair gently, then turned to Cas. “Now what?” No sooner had he spoken than the world around him seemed to tremble. The ceiling disappeared and the paint ran down the walls like candle wax. Thoughtlessly Dean threw himself to the floor and covered his head, pressing his eyes closed. Everything around him shook, the very air shattering like ice until his throat ached. And then as soon as it had struck, the storm was gone. Panting slightly, Dean opened his eyes. 

*******

Bright white light. The stink of sweat and rubber and something faintly sweet. A roar of voices, shouts and conversations and some mad chanting, that crashed together into the sound of waves. It made Dean’s head hurt. 

Blinking, he pushed himself up from the whatever surface he was lying on, and it gave a little beneath his hands. He appeared to be in the center of a raised square of padded blue floor, surrounded by thick padded ropes. Above, round fluorescent lights burned like miniature suns in a sky of metal slats and shadows. All around, hundreds of faces watched him, shouting, laughing, eyes trained on him. _“What the hell..?.”_ He muttered in a whisper. He certainly wasn’t in the hospital anymore. 

Dean rubbed his eyes, and then pushed himself to his feet, a motion accompanied by roars from the crowd. Confused, but slightly enamored too at having so many fans, he turned and quickly lost his bemused smile. The man bearing down on him couldn’t have been human. He towered a good 3 feet above Dean and his bare arms bulged with muscle. His face was drawn into a glare so intense that his eyes alone could have taken out a small army. Dean scrambled backwards, realizing for the first time where he was. _Dear god, I’m in a boxing ring. I’m supposed to fight that guy! I’m dead meat._

A voice over the loudspeakers announced animatedly that “Winchester is back on his feet and ready to fight, but can he best the reigning Champion Koro Kohati, undefeated in every category? Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets now! The clock starts in one minute.” Dean prided himself in his fearlessness and strength, but in that moment the only thing he wanted to do was cry. Either that or scramble over the ropes surrounding that padded fighting area and dive into the crowd. And where were Sam and Cas? Were they still back in the hospital, or were they out there in the sea of faces somewhere? He strained his eyes, but there was no way he was going to be able to pick them out in under a minute. _Goodbye Sammy_ , he whispered in his head, _you were the best little brother a guy could ask for, even when you were gassy and changed my radio stations in the car. Funny how after all the shit we’ve fought I’m gonna get killed by a guy in nothing but underwear, who isn’t even real. And Cas, Cas i think you already know -_

The first punch landed square on Dean’s jaw, and he flew a good ten feet before crashing to the ground, his neck snapping back, catapulting his head against the blue rubber that no longer felt to soft. His head felt like it was on fire, the pain spreading out from the point of contact like electricity. He groaned, and reached up to feel for anything broken, but he was already being dragged back to his feet by a giant, sweaty fist around his upper arm. Feet slipping, Dean tried to pull free, but the grip was too tight. Instead, he lashed out with his free hand, trying to catch Koro off guard. The side of his hand collided with the huge man’s chest, but he hardly flinched. 

Koro’s next punch smashed just below Dean’s right eye, and with a grunt he crumpled to the floor. The sounds of the crowd made his spinning head pound, and he whimpered as a foot slammed into his side. This wasn’t fair. The whole thing wasn’t even real, so why did it hurt so bad? “You bastard trickster. I’m gonna tear you limb from limb!” Dean choked, spitting out a mouthful of blood and dragging himself towards the edge of the ring. He hoped that he could use the ropes keeping them from tumbling into the crowd as a support to hoist himself back to his feet. 

His plan worked, for all of five seconds at least. He managed to get himself back to a standing position and wipe away the droplets of blood that clung to his lashes, before an elbow drove into his ribs and he was back on the ground, this time gasping for air that didn’t seem to want to enter his bruised lungs. “Fuck...Please..” He coughed, bloody lipped and shaking. “Can’t someone else have a turn now?” 

Almost instantaneously there was a sharp flash of light, and then Cas stood in the center of the ring, dressed once more in his usual trench coat and tie. Dean sucked in a sharp breath of surprise. So the trickster, Gabriel, could hear him after all. Cas would smite that Koro bastard and everything would be fine. Propped up on his elbows, Dean watched as the much larger man approached the angel slowly, moving back and forth as if sizing up his prey. His expression did not shift in the slightest at the sudden change of opponents. The terrifying calm in those big, almost dead eyes was awful. 

Koro took his time making his way within striking range of Cas, while Cas stood perfectly still, hands bunched into loose fists at his sides. His trench coat fluttered strangely in some tiny breeze Dean couldn’t feel. Even from behind, Dean could tell that the angel was perfectly calm. He could feel it, that same resonating sense of peace with which Cas would hold him on those nights he wasn’t supposed to think about. Everything was still. Even the crowd seemed hushed, distant. 

_Crack._ The collision of Koro’s fist with Cas’ face was so sudden the whole crowd seemed to jerk at the same time from the shock. Dean was flung onto his back again as Cas toppled onto him, his blue eyes wide, and his lip bleeding. Dean tried to grab ahold of him, but he was already coursing back to his feet with a wildness in him Dean hadn’t seen before. “Cas!” Dean rasped, spitting another mouthful of blood and pulling himself to his knees in time to see the angel’s head collide with one of the metal poles that held up the ropes around the ring. He blinked, looking lost, and a line of blood ran from the edge of his dark hair and over his forehead. 

The fury rose up in Dean like a monster, tearing at the backs of his eyes until all he could see was a strange reddish darkness. It lifted him back to his feet, bloody and staggering and threw him back at the towering figure of Koro. He struck blindly, no strategy, no worry for his own survival, only the anger and the inescapable instinct to protect Cas. For a drawn out few seconds, the bigger man was too surprised to react, so Dean got in a few good hits. The sweat-slicked chest felt like cement under his fists, and electric pain coursed through his hands but he just kept lashing out until Koro knocked him back to his knees again with an almost casual hit to his shoulder. 

Behind him, Cas had pushed himself half up with one arm, but he still had that dazed expression like he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Dean could barely see through one eye which had started to swell shut, his whole body felt heavy, and it hurt to breathe, but he kept himself firmly between Cas and Koro. “Don’t touch him.” He growled, fierce even as he choked up more blood. Koro stared at him for a moment, considering, then went right for the angel. 

Unable to do any good defensively, Dean scrambled on all fours across the sticky blue padded floor and threw himself over Cas, protecting him with his body. Cas huffed in surprise and his eyes cleared slightly. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but Dean hushed him with a finger to his lips. “Shh, I got you Cas. Just...just stay still alright?” 

The huge man paused in his advance, confused what to do with the two battered figures pressed together on the floor, and Dean tensed his back, waiting for the attack. Cas was shaking under him, but Dean focused all of his energy into making his body strong, impenetrable. The only thing that mattered in the glow of the fluorescent lights and the pound of crowd was keeping the angel safe. The taste of blood was sharp in his mouth. 

It only took one blow. Dean saw blue, Cas’s lips forming the shape of his name, fingers of pain digging into the back of his skull, and then there was nothing.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean awoke to the sound of knocking. When he opened his eyes, the crowd and the lights and smell of sweat were gone. He lay on his back somewhere soft that smelled of perfume and something else he couldn’t quite place. Groggy and disoriented he rubbed his eyes and mumbled “Cas?” There was no answer, but the knocking continued. 

Grumbling, he rubbed his bleary eyes and dragged himself to his feet. There was a white door on the other side of the room where the sound seemed to originate, so he stumbled to it and yanked it open mumbling “What d’you want?” through a thick yawn. The sight that met his eyes was so strange that he was jerked roughly from his sleepy stupor. Dean had seen plenty of weird things in his life but this, this was too much. 

Cas stood before him eyes narrowed in confusion. That was pretty normal, Cas and confusion seemed to go hand in hand in a lot of human situations, but what caught Dean so off guard that he struggled to find words was what he was wearing. He was dressed in a red and white striped button down shirt, the kind of thing you might see on a pizza delivery man, or the kid flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant. Only it was much too tight, and there weren’t any sleeves and _oh god_ it barely made it past his ribs and Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to be looking at that strip of skin but he couldn’t stop. Then his eyes slipped lower and he choked. Cas wasn’t wearing any pants. He was all trussed up in goddamn red _leather_ underwear that made the shirt look baggy. “W-what the _fuck_ are you _wearing?_ ” Dean managed in a strangled squeak. 

It wasn’t until then that Dean realized the way Cas was looking at him. The angel’s confused expression was underlined with a strange curiosity and what could only be described as something like lust. Holding his breath, Dean glanced down at his own body. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Cas at least had the shirt, but Dean’s chest was completely bare and his underwear - _no, I’m not even gonna think about it._ “What the fuck am _I_ wearing?” 

With a sinking feeling, Dean realized what was happening. _No, no, no this is not ok! What am I supposed to do? I’m supposed to be staying away from Cas! This is not happening._ He didn’t realize he was still staring at the angel until Cas cleared his throat. “Dean? I don’t understand what happened to our clothing...” 

“We’re goddamn porn stars Cas!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Porn Cas. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen porn!” 

“I’m afraid I don’t -” 

“Sex Cas!” Dean snapped, turning from the door and pacing back towards the bed. “Porn is sex! And your freaking brother thinks he’s so funny! But he’s not. I am not having sex with you! I’m not having sex while that sick bastard watches! Fuck this.” He was mad. He was mad that he was stuck in a situation he couldn’t escape with violence like he usually could. He was mad that he was dressed in nothing but underwear. But mostly he was mad that Cas looked so stupid in that ridiculous porn get-up, and he still wanted to shove him against a wall. _No. No I did not just think that. Fuck no!_

Dean paced the room three or four more times, fists clenched at his sides. He concentrated on not looking at Cas, but it didn’t work very well. The angel sat on the edge of the bed, silent, his eyes following Dean’s frantic movements. Finally, without speaking, Dean sighed and thumped down next to Cas, careful to keep an acceptable distance between them. “I don’t suppose just walking out that door would get us out of this would it?” 

“I’m afraid not. Gabriel wouldn’t bring us here, or dress us in this strange clothing for no reason. He must want us to do something.” 

Dean swallowed, glancing at the angel, but his expression was all innocence. “You really haven’t ever watched porn have you? You’ve been alive thousands of years and no porn _or_ sex? Jesus Cas what do you _do?_ ” Cas frowned, looking slightly insulted. “You do realize there is much more to life than the pursuit of sexual pleasure Dean.” His words would have held much more weight, however, if his eyes didn’t keep flicking down to take in Dean’s barely clothed form. And not all that surreptitiously either. 

“Well Cas buddy, you’re a porn star now, so the pursuit of sexual pleasure is now your job. Have fun.” Dean couldn’t help smirking a little at that, because imagining Cas as a porn star was kind of amusing. He would have outright laughed if the angel had still been dressed in his usual clothes, but now with all that bare skin the idea didn’t seem so ridiculous. Cas was certainly attractive enough. “But why would your brother do this to us?” Dean continued, half to himself. “I mean if he has a thing for watching two guys get it on then that’s nice for him, I ain’t judging him or anything, but his own brother? That’s just....wrong. And then there’s me. Of course I like you plenty Cas but I’m not really into dudes. I don’t just fuck around with dudes! I mean I’m not saying that I -” 

“Dean.” Cas quieted him with a soft voice and a hand on his arm. He hadn’t even realized he’d been babbling like an idiot. But the room felt too small, and Cas was so close, so close. “What?” He mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Dean, calm down. It’s ok. We’ll figure it out.” 

“What makes you think I’m not calm?” Dean snapped defiantly, but who was he kidding? He was practically vibrating from the nerves. Cas kept a hand on his forearm, like he wanted to calm him physically, but it wasn’t helping things. “You’re shaking.” Cas pointed out. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m sorry Dean.” 

“Don’t say sorry. I’m not mad at _you_ feather brain. I just...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Never thought that whole thing about being stuck becoming a stripper or a porn star if you dropped out of high school was true!” Dean laughed, but it came out shaky and a little bit forced, and the hand on his skin felt too hot. Cas was quiet, studying Dean. His expression was focused, but otherwise unreadable, not a hint of the earlier emotions Dean had caught there. Dean sighed, and looked down at his hands, at the sliver of red sheets between them, and the flutter of Cas’ thumb against the tiny hairs on his arm. _This is my punishment I guess, for wanting something I shouldn’t._ Dean thought miserably. Watching that thumb move it's tiny circles over his skin. 

“Do you trust me Dean?” Cas’ question was so sudden and seemingly random that Dean raised an eyebrow, lifting his eyes back to Cas’ face. “Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I? Of course I trust you Cas. Jesus. You shouldn’t have to ask that!” 

“Close your eyes.” That was Cas, always painfully straight forwards. 

“Why?” Dean squinted suspiciously. 

“Dean.” 

“Ok, ok! But if you do something weird to me, some freaky angel thing, I swear to god...” He grumbled, but he followed the angel’s instructions anyway. If Cas had a plan, then he was game. He certainly didn’t have anything. For a moment nothing happened. He sat there with his eyes scrunched closed, his whole body tense, and waited. 

When Cas’ lips brushed his, barely rougher than breath, Dean shuddered, pulling back and opening his eyes again. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this. Not with Cas, no matter how much he wanted to. “Cas I don’t think-” He started, but the angel silenced him again with a touch, this one on his lower back. “Shh, Dean. Trust me. Remember what I told you about my brother? We won’t escape without playing his games.” 

“But Cas-” 

“Dean, it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.” Cas stroked lines up his back, fingers even gentler than his lips had been. His eyes were very calm, but something deeper, something dangerous, danced there, and Dean knew there was no use resisting. The one guy he fantasized about in the shower was sitting there in practically nothing, with his lips pursed ever so slightly and his breath warm on Dean’s neck. What the hell was he supposed to do? It was entirely unfair. He dimly remembered lying on his back that morning vowing not let himself get any more attached. _Oh fuck it. It’s an emergency._ He told himself, pushing the guilt somewhere deep, where it couldn't laugh at him in all his inconsistency. 

When he let his eyes fall closed again, Cas wasted no time in pressing back in, eager and insistent, but careful too, like he was afraid he’d hurt Dean. Dean himself was hesitant. Things were a lot different with the lights on. There was something about the middle of the night hours that felt safer that this strange room with its large bed and smell of synthetic roses. Something about the thick darkness and the adrenaline of nightmares that made everything dreamlike, made everything more acceptable. If he let Cas kiss him once or twice under tented blankets at 2 in the morning in another forgotten motel, it wasn’t as frightening as this. 

Cas was stubborn though, and he knew how to kiss far better than Dean thought was even remotely fair. It was little nips one minute, light and playful, and the next he was pushing Dean back onto those smooth sheets, his true angelic strength easily visible in the way his tongue found it’s effortless way into Dean’s mouth. It only took a moment before Dean had forgotten his careful planning entirely, and was kissing Cas back with nearly as much enthusiasm. 

When Dean got too breathless to keep going he would turn his head away, cheek against the sheets and Cas would stroke his hair while he panted, whispering “It’s ok Dean. It’s ok.” The tension drained from Dean’s body with his stuttering breaths and he finally cupped Cas’ face and murmured “No Cas, it’s better than ok. Fuck it’s...it’s.” 

“It’s what?” Cas frowned, face mere inches from Dean’s, his cheeks flushed pink and his temples beaded with sweat. Dean just shook his head. He gave up talking after that. Words were overrated anyway. He let Cas press him down again, let him drag his fingernail over his chest, let him kiss his eyelids closed every time he tried to open his eyes. He was completely at the angel’s mercy, and hell did he like it. It wasn’t something he was used to, letting go so entirely like that. He didn’t do that with girls, because he didn’t want anyone thinking he was weak. 

After some time, Dean couldn’t quite tell because time always got backwards and strange when he was alone with Cas, he started to get a little more daring, or maybe just a little less self conscious. He discovered that if he bit down gently on the place just where Cas’ chin sloped into his neck, or dragged his tongue alone the stubbled line of his jaw, the angel would go stiff against him, making little mumbling sounds in his hair. He worked his way up and down Cas’ neck again and again, a little shiver snaking through him at every sound. If Cas was going to make him lose control so completely, then he was going to pay him back, dammit. 

Cas repaid these advances with his hands. His fingers, just as at home wrapped bloody around an angel blade, flew over Dean’s skin as adeptly as if he’d touched him a thousand times. They smoothed his hair back, slipped down his neck and dug rough and demanding into his shoulders. They scratched down his sides, every fingernail touching not only Dean’s skin, but that thick warmth spreading in his stomach. One finger circled his nipple, and he gasped roughly, trying not to squirm. He could feel the satisfied grin on the angel’s lips when he kissed him again, this time lazy and slow. Dean was grateful for the slower pace, because he could concentrate enough to work at the buttons of Cas’ shirt without his hands shaking too much. Each time he fumbled one free he’d touch the newly exposed skin, sometimes light, sometimes rough, just to see what reactions he could get out of Cas. It became a sort of game of who could make the other gasp the loudest, or squirm, or make those delicious little sounds that Cas kept making that made Dean wonder exactly how he was going to force himself to stop. They obviously couldn’t have sex. They weren’t real porn stars. 

When Dean got the last button undone and ran both hands all the way down Cas’ chest and over his stomach, the angel said “Dean!” so urgently he yanked his hands away like they’d been burned. “Cas? Cas what’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing. My body just feels....strange.” He observed with the tiniest of frowns. Dean laughed, a breathless little huff. “Oh god Cas, you’re really something.” He squirmed out from under him and straddled him, laying both palms on his chest, still grinning. Cas gazed up at him, cheeks even more flushed than before, and licked his lips. “You know Cas, you’re a pretty damn good kisser, but you’ve got a lot to learn.” Dean decided, moving his hands down just the slightest bit. Cas nodded, though it didn’t look like he quite knew what Dean was talking about, which only made him even more adorable. “I’ll teach you.” The words were out before Dean could stop them and he froze, horrified. Cas, thank god, still hadn’t caught on though. He just said, “Thank you Dean. You’re a good teacher. I look forward to whatever it is you would like me to learn.” Dean hoped the angel couldn’t see how red his cheeks were, but he dipped to kiss him hastily, just in case. 

Lovely, clueless thing that he was, Cas kissed Dean back happily without question, arms twining around his waist. Dean moved down his neck again, hands finding their way to his mussed hair. Cas let out a low growl as Dean tugged a little, and in an instant he was on his back again, eyes wide as the angel gripped his shoulders, eyes blazing. Dean could feel Cas hard against his stomach, but he willed himself not to look down. “You..you like it when I touch your hair huh?” Dean breathed against his skin, and Cas nodded immediately. "So, the mighty angel has a weakness then?" Dean murmured, pulling Cas' head down firmly to his chest. He started at the base of his neck, taking that tiny curl between his thumb and forefinger gently. Murmuring nonsense he wouldn't remember later he raked his fingers through that thick darkness again and again, nails drawing scratchy lines across the angel's scalp. His eyes were closed, but Dean imagined the stars, the shiny black hood of the Impala, the smell of the breeze. "We should go stargazing again sometime." He half whispered, and though Cas' reply was breathless and muffled against his shoulder, Dean took it to be agreement. 

When Dean stopped stroking, Cas lifted his head and gazed at him with the exact same expression of utter disappointment dogs always seemed to get when Sammy stopped petting them. The thought made Dean irrationally happy, and he grinned, touching the angel's cheek. "Why so serious?" 

"Why did you stop? I was enjoying myself." 

"Cas I thought you had a plan ok? I mean besides..well... _this._ I ain't petting you all day like a puppy." Dean giggled, shaking his head. "I thought we were trying to get out of here!" 

Cas pouted, looking betrayed, and Dean relented with worrisome speed, pulling the angel's head back to it's place on his chest and burying his fingers once more in his hair. "You bastard." Dean muttered, but he couldn't find the anger in himself, especially when Cas huffed a little laugh, turning his head just slightly. "You don't mind it Dean," he pointed out, all cheerful again, "You like this. I can feel your heart. It doesn't usually beat this rapidly." 

"Shut it feathers. Making me your bitch is bad enough, you don't have to rub it in." Dean meant to deny it, but who was fooling? Cas was right. 

"What do you mean? I didn't make you my-" 

"Cas, seriously. Shh." Dean gave the back of Cas' hair another proper tug, and he gasped and twitched slightly, his breath going instantly shaky. Dean grinned wickedly, because oh he could have fun with this. He tugged again and Cas almost whimpered, biting down on Dean's shoulder. When he tugged a third time though, Cas shoved his hands away and surged up to kiss him, rough and sloppy. "Mmmf." Dean mumbled, a little surprised. 

He was far more surprised, however, when there was a strange flash, and he jerked his eyed open to find himself still pressed under Cas, but instead of the porn set's blank walls, and dim ceiling above them, they were somehow crammed in the back of the Impala. It seemed to be late afternoon, and sunlight streamed in through the back windows, filling the whole car with a warm glow. The black leather that Dean so carefully took care of shone, and Cas' messy hair even seemed flecked with light "What the hell?" Dean muttered, squirming to get a better look around. Cas, looking almost as surprised, lifted his head. His lips were wet and his face scrunched up in a grimace at the shocking brightness. His signature trench coat and tie had appeared on him as if by magic. "Where are we Dean?" 

"In my car apparently. But how did you get your clothes?" Dean pretended valiantly that he didn't, in any way possible, miss those red underwear. "You're dressed too." Cas observed. "I assume this means we passed the test." 

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Dean tried to sound enthusiastic, because he certainly wasn't supposed to feel disappointed. He had his trusty leather jacket back, and his car, and he didn't have to pretend to be filming gay porn with his best friend. He was supposed to be freaking elated. But he wasn't. Not even a little bit. He was half temped to just drag Cas' head right back down and kiss him again, but this plan was stopped pretty quickly by the drivers side door opening, and Sammy plopping down on the seat in front of them, apparently not realizing they were there. 

Dean sat up so fast that poor Cas scrambled to right himself, before hitting the back of his head against the window with a shocked expression. Sam turned around fast as lightning at the sound. His look of defensiveness turned quickly to one of shock, and then of almost glee. “Dean? Cas? What exactly are you doing back there?” 

“We…we were just..you know….trying to find something?” Dean stammered lamely, cheeks flushed. At least they had all of their clothes on again, but they were a little tangled up, and the line of little red marks down Cas’ neck were evident despite his collar and tie. Dean had never wished more than he did at that moment that he had that lovely angel ability to zap off somewhere, anywhere, else. He shot Cas a pointed look, but he didn’t get the memo, and just squinted at him. _Typical Cas._

Sam kept looking back and forth between them, obviously taking in Cas’ rumpled hair and Deans slightly swollen lips, and Dean decided things couldn’t get any worse. At least in porn land it had only been him and Cas, no one to see, no one to judge him. But here Sam was, grinning like he’d won the freaking lottery, probably already planning to text everyone he knew. If someone could die of mortification alone, Dean would have gladly accepted his fate. But then it got worse. 

“I don’t know why Dean said that. We weren’t looking for anything. We were porn stars.” Cas explained seriously, healing the bump on the back of his own head with two fingers and a frown, before turning to Sam. “We were just playing the game, and our performance must have been good, so Gabriel sent us here.” 

“You were _what?_ ” Sam choked, satisfied grin lost back to the look of utter surprise. 

“Porn stars.” Cas repeated. “Dean told me they are people who have -" 

“Cas!” If Dean had been mortified before, he was positively destroyed now. “Shut the hell up!” His tone was so hard that both Sam and Cas turned to him, instantly silent. He dug his fingernails into his palm, tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t help. So instead he clambered out of the car, slamming the door roughly behind him. 

The car was parked at the edge of an old dirt road, with a muddy bank and a lake stretching out on one side, and trees on the other. From the thick green leaves, Dean knew they weren’t back to the real world yet. Nowhere but freaking Hawaii had that many leaves in November. He took a few steps, and then lifted his head and shouted, “Alright listen here you son of a bitch!” He had no idea if the trickster could hear him, but he went on anyway. “I’m done with your games! I played at the doctor thing, I tried to fight that big bastard you set on me and I even fucking pretended to be a porn star for you. But I am _done_ , you hear me? Get your lousy ass down here this minute and send us home or I swear to god I’ll hunt you down!” 

He was seething, but he wasn’t even sure why. Yeah, the whole porn thing had been a totally dick move, but he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed himself. Maybe that was why he was mad. Because he’d promised himself that he would have some self control for once, and he hadn’t. Or maybe he was mad that Sam had seen them, or that he had to be embarrassed, had to hate himself for something that he actually kind of liked. Hell, something he _definitely_ liked. Or maybe he was just mad that the damned trickster had actually given him something awesome, and now he owed him. 

There was a faint sound behind him, and he turned on his heels to find the trickster grinning at him. “Hello there love bird.” 

“Send us back. Now.” Dean had no time for pleasantry. 

“Hold up a minute Dean, don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed this just a little? Most things you hunt aren’t so much fun. Don’t I deserve a little thank you?" 

“You tricked me into making out with Cas!” Dean snapped angrily. 

“Helloooo. Trickster.” Gabriel laughed, pointing to himself. “Just part of the job. But Dean, you do realize that your thing for my brother isn’t exactly a secret. You think the whole world can’t see the way you look at Castiel? You don’t watch out and you’ll be as dependent on him as you are your brother. But frankly, I say go for it. As far as my sibling go, Castiel is one of the better ones. He’s finally starting to see that he doesn’t have to follow heaven’s every rule. And Dean, it’s about time you realized-” 

“I _said_ send us home.” Dean interrupted, losing his patience. He wasn’t going to sit around being lectured by a goddamn trickster. “Send us back now or I’ll kill you.” Gabriel snorted at that, and rolled his eyes, obviously not the least bit worried. “And how did killing me work out for you last time? But _fine._ If you want to go back, then you can go back. I think I’ve been entertained enough for one day, and my lessons obviously aren’t getting through your thick head, so I give up.” He sighed deeply, like Dean had offended him, before waving a languid hand in the air. There was a flash, and Dean found himself back in the parking lot of the old warehouse, his head spinning slightly.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean drove back the motel in silence. Sam sat next to him in the passenger’s seat still looking faintly amused, and Cas sat stiffly in the back looking faintly lost. Dean didn’t want to deal with either of them. He was surprised that Cas hadn’t disappeared the minute they were back, to be honest. If he had that power he definitely would have got the hell out of there. But instead Cas had kept his spot in the back of the Impala, and now Dean was going to have to talk to him. His method of dealing with his problems usually involved either a few rock salt bullets or avoiding them until they went away, but this time he knew that he needed to talk. You can’t just get it on with your best friend in porn outfits, and not work things out afterwards. 

The sun was just setting when he pulled into the parking lot of the motel, and the lights above each door glowed a warm yellow-orange. A woman in a fur jacket stepped from one of the doors with a cigarette between her fingers, and Dean would have found her attractive if he wasn’t so distracted. Sammy opened his door and hopped out, but Dean stayed where he was. If he was going to talk to Cas, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be in front of his little brother. “Dean, Cas, what are you doing?” Sam called, frowning. “You guys coming or what?” In the rearview mirror Dean’s eyes met Cas’ and he shook his head slightly. _Stay. We need to talk._ Surprisingly, Cas seemed to understand. 

Dean rolled down his window and motioned Sam over, pressing the room key into his hand. “Me and Cas are just gonna run a quick errand ok? We’ll be back later.” He glared at his brother’s raised eyebrow, but thankfully Sam didn’t comment, and just nodded his assent before zipping up his jacket and heading inside. When Sam was gone, Dean turned to Cas and patted passenger’s seat. “You wanna come sit up here with me?” Without a second of hesitation Cas disappeared, and promptly reappeared next to Dean with a rustle of fabric. Dean rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to use a door once in a while?” 

Dean started the car and pulled out into the road, heading for the edge of town. The sun had slid just below the horizon, and the sky was scattered with silky trails of pink clouds. Up and down main street the street lamps were flickering to life one by one. Cas watched them with apparent interest, and when he wasn’t watching the road, Dean watched Cas. The angel sat with his usual stiffness, hands folded in his lap. His eyes flicked from the street, to the buildings, and then to the slowly darkening sky. 

Dean drove on past the stores and restaurants, past a little movie theater and a bar with bright lights and a small crowd outside. He drove past houses with closed curtains and the silhouettes of happy families in the windows. He drove until night set in, and the lights of town faded behind them. He pulled off finally onto a rutted road and parked. Without saying a word he opened the door and climbed out, and in equal silence, Cas followed. They took their places on the hood of the Impala, and when Dean had settled into a position that he decided was a comfortable as he was going to get, he turned to Cas. “So I know I’m not one for any of that heart to heart bullshit, but I was just thinking that maybe we should talk, you know, after all that stuff in… you know…” He shrugged awkwardly.  “Talk about what?” Cas asked, curious. Dean took a deep breath, ready to tell Cas that everything, all of it, had to stop. But the words didn’t come out. He just shrugged again, and glanced up at the sky. The first few stars were just starting to come out against the darkness. “Hey Cas, remember the last time we went stargazing?” 

“Yes. You fell asleep on me, and I watched over you all night. You mumbled my name once.” 

“I did _not!_ ” Dean said, sounding appalled. 

“You did. You held onto my tie and said my name, but when I answered you, you didn’t say anything.” Cas was smiling fondly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “How come you didn’t tell me that?” Dean accused, frowning, but only slightly. Cas shrugged, mirroring Dean. “It seemed unimportant.” 

Dean shook his head, pretending at annoyance, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Cas, the bastard, knew it too, and he grinned right back. Dean was always struck by how happy Cas looked whenever _he_ was happy. It was half scary, and half wonderful that he could effect someone like that. “Why’re you grinning at me like that Cas?” He asked, still failing miserably at annoyance. “I’m happy when I’m with you.” Cas said simply and Dean froze as warmth pooled inside him. There was no way he was sending the angel away. He couldn’t. He coughed, and managed in a mostly steady voice, “Well good thing I’m around then huh?” 

Cas looked at him seriously for a long time. Dean tried to pry his eyes away, tried to look up at the stars or at the field, but he couldn’t pull free of that intent gaze. Cas tilted his head just the slightest, and blinked a few times and then asked, “Can I kiss you Dean?” Dean coughed again, surprised. Sure, Cas wasn’t really one for beating around the bush, but neither of them had ever been so straightforwards about whatever it was they were doing. _Tell him no, goddammit. You brought him out here to tell him this was over, so just say no!_

“Yeah sure.” Dean’s mouth betrayed him. “You don’t really ask people if you can kiss them, Cas. You just sort of do it and hope they don’t get mad.” He’d barely finished his sentence before the angel was cupping a cool hand behind his neck and pulling him in. _It’s too late to go back now. What have I done?_ But then Cas’ lips were against his, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about the wrongness. 

When Dean pulled away, Cas was still smiling, and damn, it was the best smile Dean had ever seen. It was made so much better by the fact that he didn’t smile very often at all, and certainly not like that. The corners of his eyes were all crinkled, and Dean found himself grinning too. “You know how I always say angels are dicks? Well I don’t think you’re a dick.” He reached out slowly, and touched the angel’s cheek. Cas’ smile widened. “Thank you Dean.” 

They sat there a while, just staring at each other like the stars of a goddamn romance movie, before Dean shook himself slightly and tilted his head back to look up, clearing his throat. “So, you wanna teach me some more about the stars or something? If I stare into your eyes for one more minute I’m gonna turn into a freaking girl.” 

“Dean I don’t think thats possible.” 

“Shut up Cas. I don’t wanna hear it. You gonna teach me some stars or what?” 

Cas leaned back against the windshield, that little grin still playing across his lips. Dean followed suit, their shoulders just touching. A stiff breeze was picking up in the tops of the trees across the road and it was starting to get cold. He shivered slightly, and half considered cuddling closer to Cas, before deciding against it. The whole kissing stunt was bad enough. But then another gust ruffled his hair and he changed his mind as quickly as he’d made it up, dropping his arm casually around the angel’s shoulder. Cas curled against his side without question, glancing at him before continuing his silent assessment of the sky. 

After a space of quiet, Cas murmured, “Dean, put your hand like this.” He stuck out his pointer finger to show him. Dean frowned, but did as he was told, pointing out into darkness before looking at Cas for further instruction. The angel said nothing, but wrapped his own hand around Dean’s, and pointed it up towards the sky. Cas’ fingers weren’t warm, but they were warmer than Dean’s, and the simple, gentle, touch sent a shiver through him. 

“Now that it’s autumn here I can show you my favorite constellation.” Cas’ voice was quiet, as he guided Dean’s hand down slightly, closer to the horizon. “You see the three stars there?” Dean nodded, so Cas went on. “They mark the belt of Orion, the great hunter. See? if you look there -yes right there - you can see his shoulders and his arm, and that curve is his bow.” 

“There’s a hunter in the stars? Wow, I thought we all ended up in hell.” 

“Dean, you’re too hard on yourself. Hunters aren’t all bad, especially not you and your brother. You only went to hell to save him.” 

“And you think I wouldn’t go straight back there if I died today?” 

“I think you would go straight to heaven Dean. You’ve done so much good in your life.” 

“You’re crazy Cas.” 

“No, I’m an angel. I can see every human’s soul, and like I said, yours is the brightest I’ve ever seen.” 

Dean stopped trying to argue. He didn’t believe Cas for a minute, the guy probably just wanted to get in his pants or something, but Dean knew he was also incredibly stubborn. Arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere. Their hands were still raised against the sky, so Dean lowered his. He expected Cas to let go, but instead the angel slid his fingers securely between Dean’s and squeezed. Dean stiffened for a second, but relaxed as Cas cuddled puppy-like against his side and closed his eyes. He moved his hand from Cas’ shoulder and stroked his hair hesitantly. The angel nuzzled against his hand with a tiny huff of what he took to be contentment. “What ever happened to angels not sleeping huh?” Dean laughed softly. “I’m not sleeping. I’m keeping you warm.” Cas mumbled, all defiance, against his jacket and Dean shivered again, not at all from the cold. How could he be expected to drag himself away from something that made him feel so good? He didn’t blame other hunters for falling back on drink or drugs or gambling, so why did he have to beat himself up for falling back on Cas? He was so tired of it. 

“C’mon baby, lets get in the car. It’s cold.” Dean yawned, rubbing his eyes with his free hand, fingers icy without Cas’ to keep them warm. 

“Did you call me baby?” 

“No! No of course not! I mean I…I didn’t… I mean I meant to say-” 

“Dean it’s ok. I don’t mind.” Cas opened his eyes, smiling slightly again. “Let’s get in the car then.” Embarrassed as all hell by his slip, Dean just nodded, untangling himself and hopping down to open the back door for Cas. The angel frowned in confusion, but Dean just ushered him in and crawled in after him. The dark space was a little cramped, but certainly warmer than the windy night outside. Dean scrunched himself onto his back, legs bent at a funny angle and head crammed against the door and pulled Cas down onto his chest. He closed his eyes, took a long, deep, breath and went back to stroking that dark hair. “Shouldn’t we be getting back? You told Sam…” Cas started, but Dean hushed him. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay here with his feet already falling asleep, a stripe of stars visible out the window, and the curve of Cas neck under his hand. “Could we stay awhile?” He whispered, and Cas nodded. 

After that, they were both quiet. Dean continued his careful smoothing of Cas’ hair, and Cas leaned up sometimes to kiss his neck, lazy and soft as the feel of pulling on an old t-shirt after the shower. Everything was still, and safe, and Dean wondered how, that very morning, he’d been convinced that there was no good between him and Cas. So maybe Cas was an angel, a real, honest to god, angel, and maybe he was (for all intensive purposes) a man, which wasn’t usually something Dean was ok with, but none of that mattered. It did, but not enough. Because Cas made him happy, and hell if he was going to give that up for the fear that his father would turn over in his grave and punish him for being weak. Hell if he was going to give that up because he was terrified. He was a Winchester, and it was his job to fight fear. 

Just as he was drifting off, he felt his tired hand slip from Cas’ head, felt it come to rest on the cool leather, and felt Cas reach down and wrap his fingers around it again, cradling it between them like it was something precious. And Dean didn’t even care how goddamn cheesy it was, because he was safe, and he was happy. _Real_ happy.


	20. Chapter 20

They spent the whole night in the back of the car. When Dean woke he found that Cas had taken off his trench coat and spread it over them like a makeshift blanket. All he could see of the angel under it’s folds were a pair of sunlight, spotted legs and a tuft of unruly hair that just tickled his chin. When he shifted slightly, yawning, that tuft of hair emerged from the cover and two bright eyes peered down at him from about two inches away. “Woah there Cas, good morning to you too.” Dean mumbled sleepily, putting a palm to Cas’ forehead to push him back a bit. “Good morning Dean.” Cas replied, sounding uncharacteristically cheerful. “Sam called your phone five times.” He added. “I told him you wanted to sleep in the car with me, and he told me to tell you something….what was it?” Cas wrinkled his brow in thought for a moment. “Oh! Yes, he wanted me to tell you he said ‘go get ‘em tiger.’ I’m not quite sure what that means, I told him that I could confirm you weren’t a striped animal, but he said I should just tell you.” 

“That little bastard.” Dean grumbled, but he was warm and as comfortable as you could be in the back of a car, and he couldn't bring himself to be properly pissed. He could get Sammy back some other time. “So, you wanna go get some breakfast? I’m starving.” 

“If you would like to eat, then I will certainly come with you.” Cas nodded. 

“You don’t want breakfast? Oh, right, angels don’t need to eat or something.” 

“I’ll still accompany you.” Cas said, seriously. “When I said I was happy with you I meant it. I’d like to stay.” Dean licked his lips, trying not to let Cas see how ridiculously happy those stupid few words made him. _I’d like to stay._ No one said that. Not even his own father had stuck around. He had a hard time wanting to get up from his warm little nest, especially with Cas’ breath on his neck again. It was tempting to just want to stay there all day. But his stomach grumbled, so he touched Cas’ cheek lightly before saying “Alright buddy, time to get off me. I can’t feel my legs at all!” And then he added, as if in afterthought though in truth it was the only thing in his head. “And of course you can stay. You can always stay.” 

It took them a few minutes of mumbled curses and giggles to untangle themselves enough to get up and out of the back seats. They tumbled out into the cold November air and Dean’s legs were so completely numb from hours of being tucked under an angel, that he promptly collapsed. “Dean? What’s wrong?” Cas was all worried hands, pulling Dean back to his feet and holding him while he swayed and stamped the life into his feet, and he looked so concerned that Dean couldn’t stop laughing, once he could feel his feet enough to find it amusing. 

Their drive back to town was a lot different than their trip the night before. They talked and laughed and every time Cas looked at him, Dean would find himself grinning stupidly like a kid with a crush. “You should stick around more you know.” He said after Cas attempted to explain a particularly bad joke that made no sense at all and was supposedly funnier in Enochian. “I like your shitty jokes.” 

“Hey, that’s not polite Dean. If you knew Enochian you’d understand it. It’s not my fault you’re an ignorant human.” 

“Speaking of not polite, you bastard!” Dean shot back in mock anger, but they were both still grinning widely, so it didn’t have much of an effect. “Just because I don’t have magical angel powers doesn’t mean I don’t know stuff! You didn’t even know what goddamn porn was so you can shut your cake-hole buddy.” 

When they burst through the door of the motel room, Sammy was surprisingly still asleep. He sat up abruptly, blinking like a started owl. When he saw who it was he sighed, shaking his head. “You guys could be a little quieter you know. I was trying to sleep.” Dean nudged Cas with his shoulder. “Yeah feathers, you should be quiet.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” Cas frowned his confused frown, then nudged Dean back with an expression that said he had no idea what the whole nudging thing was about, but that if Dean was doing it than it must be customary. Dean laughed, and tossed an arm around Cas’ shoulder, and Cas’ frown turned almost immediately to a confused smile. 

“Jesus guys. Get a room!” Sam grumbled, crawling out from under his covers and heading for the bathroom. “You’re making me sick.” But Dean caught the edges of his lips turning up in a smile that looked almost proud. 

When Sam was safely in the shower, Dean flopped out on his still neatly made bed, not bothering to take his shoes off. “Alright, so my baby is the best car in the world, but I’ve decided she’s not exactly the best bed.” He yawned, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t shake the realization, however, that the two nights spent with Cas and his car and the stars had been some of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. And he hadn’t even had anything to drink either time. 

“I told you we could come back here to sleep.” Cas pointed out still lingering near the door. Dean just waved his hand, “Yeah yeah, whatever. So we should probably wait for Sammy before we go get breakfast huh?” 

“I think Sam would appreciate that.” Cas agreed. Dean squinted at him. “You can sit down you know. We aren’t leaving just yet. You know Sammy and all his hair, he usually takes forever in there.” He yawned again, patting the bed next to him. The angel nodded, before coming to perch on the edge of the bed next to Dean, hands folded neatly in his lap and his back stick straight. Dean studied him for a second before running a lazy hand between his shoulder blades. “C’mon man, relax a little.” 

Cas turned and gazed down at Dean, expression serious. “I am relaxed.” 

“You’re impossible.” Dean snorted. “You’re not in church. Here, lie down.” He grabbed a fistful of Cas’ coat and tugged until the angel relented and plopped down next to him. “See, much more comfortable huh?” Dean asked, nudging him again. 

“Yes Dean, much more comfortable.” Cas humored him. His tiny smile was back, and it made Dean want to drag him in and kiss him, but he restrained himself. Sammy would be out of the bathroom any time, and if he caught them kissing that would just be weird. So Dean settled for touching the end of his nose lightly with one finger. Cas went rather cross-eyed trying to see what he was doing, and Dean laughed. 

When Sam reappeared from the bathroom showered and dressed and caught sight of Dean and Cas sprawled out next to each other on the bed, his eyebrows shot up to considerable heights, but he didn’t say anything. Dean flushed a little anyway, and leapt to his feet. “So Sammy, you up for some breakfast? I’m starved! I could eat a horse! Cas and I were talking about going to get something, even though apparently angels don’t need to eat. But I mean come on, how sad is your existence if you can’t eat bacon and pancakes? So I figure we should make him eat anyway….” He didn’t realize how fast he was talking until Sam raised a hand to stop him. “Woah, hold up there Dean. You’re talking a mile a minute! I haven’t seen you like this since you had that huge crush on what’s-her-name in high school!” 

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean mumbled, and Sam laughed. 

They found a diner near the motel, and even though Cas said he didn’t need anything, Dean ordered extra pancakes and a cup of coffee for him anyway. He sat there across from Sam and Dean with his impeccable posture, fingers wrapped tightly around the chipped white porcelain cup and his face soft in the morning sunlight pouring in through the window. The angel looked so contented, so peaceful, that Dean found himself gazing at him, enthralled. Cas didn’t seem to mind. When he caught Dean staring he’d just shoot him a tiny smile that never failed to make Dean jerk his gaze downwards to study the edge of the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. And every time Sammy would take on an expression that was half I-told-you-so and half the look of a mama bird watching her baby fly for the first time. It annoyed Dean to no end. 

When the food came, a bowl of oatmeal for Sam, who was apparently on a health kick again, and a big plate of pancakes that Dean hoped Cas would help him with, the tension slowly dissipated. Sam took neat bites and Dean talked with his mouth full and Cas sipped at his coffee quietly. “So, found any new jobs nearby?” Dean asked his brother, picking up Cas’ cup without thinking and taking a long gulp. “I assume you had nothing to do last night without me and Cas around to entertain you, so I’ll bet you got a whole bunch of research done.” 

“No Dean, I actually went out to a bar, thank you very much.” Sam retorted. 

“You did? Wow, I’m impressed. Did you find any women?” 

“Yeah, I actually did. Her name was Nila. She’s a student at the university in town.” 

“Sammy! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Dean whistled, clapping him on the back proudly. “Was she good in bed?” He added, leaning in conspiratorially. 

“Jesus Dean, you know women aren’t alive solely for the purpose of sex! We discussed literature actually. She wants to be an author.” 

“Oh.” Dean considered revoking his earlier expressions of pride. “Well, that sound more like the nerdy guy I know.” He turned back to his food, taking another big bite. “Wait! But c’mon, at least tell me she gave you a blow job while you read her poetry or something, because that would be really hot!” 

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, glancing around the bustling diner with a horrified look on his face. “Would it kill you to not talk about sex for _once_ in your life? There are children in here!” 

“Aww cmon Sammy, don’t tell me you wouldn’t be into that.” 

“Dean!” 

“Sorry, sorry. Jeeze Mr. Touchy. I was just asking about your night.” Dean was just going back for another forkful of pancake when Cas spoke up. “Dean?” He asked, eyebrows screwed up questioningly. “Mmmhmm?” Dean replied around a mouthful. 

“What’s a blow job?” 

Dean choked on his bite, coughing until Sam was forced to pound him on the back till he could breath again. But even then he wished he couldn’t, because that meant he had to answer. With burning cheeks he went with, “I’ll…uh…tell you later.” Before promptly shoving another bite into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to say anything else. Cas nodded in satisfaction at the answer though, thank God. Dean could only hope he would forget about it, because he didn’t see how he could explain it properly without a demonstration, which wouldn’t really be all that ba- _No. Absolutely not. I am not even going to think about that._ Blushing even more dramatically Dean fixed his eyes on his plate, not letting himself look at the angel at all. 

For the rest of the meal, Dean steered clear of the topic of sex. It turned out to be surprisingly hard. He’d never realized just how much he talked about it, or referenced it, or joked about it in his everyday conversations. And who could blame him? It was one of the things in his life that was rarely tainted by the fact that he was a hunter. Relationships, obviously, were out of the question, but a night or two with some girl who thought his secretiveness and FBI badges were hot, now that was the life. But lately, Dean had started to think about it all a little differently, and as much as he inwardly denied it, it was probably mostly to do with Cas. The one night stands were awesome, but sometimes all Dean wanted was someone to touch his cheek and tell him things were ok. Someone who understood. 

See, the thing about hunters is that they live on lies. Dean had known that his whole life. Lies were almost more essential than water, and he had absolutely no qualms about telling them. Hell, he was _good_ at lying. But lying became second nature, until he’d find himself in bed with some waitress, telling her elaborate made-up stories about his life just to get her to like him. It was honestly pitiful. The sex was good, sure, but he often half wondered if there was some other way. He wanted to be able to curl up with someone who liked him without any lies, and until lately he’d laughed at the prospect of ever finding someone like that. But then came Cas. That crazy son of a bitch with his trench coat, adorable confused expressions and terrible sense of humor. But he looked at Dean in a way that no one had ever looked at him before, and Dean just didn’t know what to do with that. But he knew was that being with Cas made him happy, and he could figure the rest out later. 

“Hey Cas, open up, I want you to try these.” Dean had eaten four huge pancakes himself already, and there was no way he was finishing the last one. Cas eyed the outstretched fork suspiciously. “C’mon, it’s good. You ever had pancakes?” Dean asked, waving the fork enticingly like he was attempting to spoon feed a grumpy toddler. And boy did he know about that. Sammy had been the pickiest kid in the country. Cas shook his head. “My vessel used to like them I believe, but no, I’ve never tried them.” 

Dean frowned, distracted. “Your vessel. Jimmy right? So, what ever happened to him? I mean you…well, you kind of died right? So…” 

“Jimmy is dead.” Cas’ voice was surprisingly harsh, shattering the happy mood instantly. “I don’t want to speak about it.” With his mouth set in a line, he pushed out of the booth and stalked to the door, heading out into the morning light without a backwards glance. “Fuck.” Dean murmured, and Sam shot him a pitying look. “Get up so I can go talk to him.” He added with a sigh, and Sam let him out instantly. 

Dean half expected Cas to zap off somewhere to sulk, so when he found him leaning against the Impala with his head bent and his eyes closed, he was a little surprised. Needless to say, he approached cautiously, just in case. When he was close enough that he could have reached out and touched the angel, and Cas hadn’t lifted his head, he ventured a hesitant “Hey Cas?” 

Cas lifted his head slowly. He wasn’t crying or anything, and he didn’t look angry, but there was something horribly sad in his eyes. He looked at Dean for a long moment, before letting his head fall again. “Cas, I’m sorry.” Dean continued, “I didn’t realize….do you…wanna talk about it or something?” Cas was silent. Dean shifted from one foot to the other, and finally settled for putting an awkward arm around Cas’ shoulder, checking quickly to make sure no one was watching. The angel was stiff and unmoving against him, but he didn’t try to pull away. “Cas?” Dean tried again, but still there was no answer. _What the hell did I do?_ Dean asked himself fearfully. He’d never seen Cas so…small before. Cas was the tough one. The unbreakable soldier of heaven. 

Dean was just getting ready to call Sammy in for backup when Cas finally spoke. “Angels do not believe in falsehood. It isn’t in our nature to promise something we cannot uphold. We don’t lie, at least, we didn’t before all this mess of the apocalypse began. Angels are supposed to be the ultimate goal for humans to aspire to, strong, faithful, trustworthy. But Dean I’ve…I’ve committed a terrible crime.” His voice wavered ever so slightly, but he continued. “I promised Jimmy Novak that I would keep him and his family safe, and… and he’s dead Dean. I killed an innocent man.” He looked up then, and his eyes were so tortured that Dean instantly wrapped both arms around him, holding him tightly, protectively. 

“Hey, hey, hey, Cas you couldn’t have known!” Dean soothed, running his fingers very lightly down the angel’s back. “You were just trying your best. You gotta know that sometimes people fuck up, and they make mistakes, and thats just the way it is. Hell, look at me! My whole damn life is one long mistake, but does that make me a bad person?” Yes. Dean thought, but like he suspected, Cas shook his head slowly. “See? So how can you think you’re bad then?” 

“Because I’m not a human Dean. I’m an angel.” 

“What, so that means you can’t make mistakes?” 

“Angels aren’t meant to make mistakes.” 

“Well that’s just utter bullshit Cas!” Dean said fiercely. “You can make as many mistakes as you want, you’re still gonna be my baby in a trench coat. Those mistakes don’t cancel out who you are, you hear me? You’ve got the best damn intentions ever, and that’s what counts.” Dean felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world, saying those words while he carried his own mistakes like a mountain on his back, but if it helped Cas then it didn’t matter. He’d say them again if he had to. 

For a while Cas was unmoving, silent, and then he slowly pulled away just enough so he could look at Dean. His expression was slightly more hopeful than tortured, and Dean inwardly sighed in relief. Cas blinked a few times, and then murmured, “Thank you Dean. I appreciate your faith in me.” 

“Cas, you don’t have to say thank you. You’re my…best friend.” Dean stumbled over the words slightly, unsure if best friends really defined things anymore, but Cas didn’t seem to notice. “Now lets go get those pancakes before they get cold, alright? Angel or no you can’t go through life without trying blueberry pancakes.” He gave the angel’s hair an affectionate ruffle, before ushering him back into the warm bustle of the diner. When he fed Cas the last two pancakes from his own fork, feeling slightly ridiculous but mostly just happy that Cas was smiling again, Sammy didn’t say a word, or even roll his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

All day Dean waited for Cas to leave. It was sad really, that he was so used to the guy disappearing unannounced, that it had become the expectation. Besides, he still had that note in his pocket, Cas’ smooth script telling him that he had things to do, worlds to save. But the angel didn’t leave. He hung around, and Dean started to wonder if it had something to do with the Jimmy thing. He hadn’t really considered it before, but maybe Cas needed soothing as much as he did sometimes. 

Thanks to Sammy’s adventures in literature and missed sexual opportunity, there was nothing turned up by way of jobs. After breakfast Dean had the brilliant idea of going to the nickel arcade they’d passed on main street. The place was dingy, and smelled faintly of smoke and too many children. The carpet was ratty, and most of the letters on the light up sign on the back wall that read ‘Welcome to the Palace Arcade!’ were burnt out, making it nearly impossible to decipher. It being a Wednesday in the middle of the school day the place was almost deserted, but that suited Dean just fine. He didn’t need any snot nosed kids kicking him off the controllers before he could set any new high scores. 

Sam pretended at skepticism, but ten minutes later he was completely engrossed in Donkey Kong, eyes narrowed in concentration. Dean decided to start Cas on Pac-man. The angel looked slightly overwhelmed by the dim room echoing with the intermixing music from the games, and pulsing with colored lights. “Alright.” Dean instructed, passing him a small handful of coins. “All you gotta do is avoid the ghosts and eat the dots ok?” 

When they left, hours later, Cas had still not progressed past level one of Pac-man, but Dean clutched his loot triumphantly- a stuffed penguin, a whole bag of candy, a rainbow slinky and a pair of toy plastic handcuffs. “Who’s the king of the arcade? Thats right, I am!” He sang cheerfully. True, Sam had won more than half of the tickets, but that was beside the point. Dean was in a good mood. 

The rest of the day was spent lounging around the hotel. They watched TV and Sam read for a while with his feet curled under him and his hair flopping into his eyes. Sometime around dinner they ordered pizza, and Dean adamantly refused to open the door for the delivery man, much to his brother’s confusion. Luckily it just turned out to just be a plump, cheerful looking guy that didn’t even had a striped red shirt. Better safe than sorry though. 

Around 9 Dean pushed himself up from where he lay sprawled on the bed, head half in Cas’ lap. “I’m gonna shower.” He yawned thickly, scratching his head. Even with his surprisingly good night of sleep the night before, Dean felt awfully sleepy. Once he’d closed the door and climbed under the stream of warm water it only got worse. He blinked, and yawned again. He didn’t want to fall asleep, because he didn’t want Cas to leave. Some part of him pointed out the obvious point that he could just ask Cas to stay, but he just wasn’t sure he could justify asking him _again_ , no matter how much he wanted to. 

He spent a long time washing his hair, and an even longer time scrubbing his body with the flakey motel soap. It was hard to stay focused when he was too tired to keep away the thoughts of Cas. He slicked his hands down his chest and wondered if Cas every showered. There was another thing he hadn’t really thought about. Did angels have some other magic mojo that protected them from the need to shower? Not to mention laundry. Dean couldn’t really think of a time he’d seen Cas change, or wash his clothes or anything. _Well there was that whole porn get up,_ Dean’s head reminded him, and he couldn’t help smiling absently at that thought, his hands slipping down past his stomach. 

He was so calm, sated my the hot water and his own fingers skimming lightly, lazily over the little curls of hair leading to his cock, that he didn’t notice the door open. He brushed off the faint click, and touch of cold air as nothing, so when Cas spoke up he almost slipped and fell in surprise. “Dean, I believe you forgot to tell me something.” His voice was calm as anything, and Dean poked his head out from behind the curtain to glare at him, water collected in beads on his eyelashes. “Dammit Cas, I thought we went over this! You don’t show up unannounced, you don’t stand extremely close to strangers, and you _don’t_ walk in on people when they’re in the shower! Do I really have to keep telling you this?” He tried to sound stern, but it was hard. Cas had taken his coat and tie off, at some point, and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway. Dean tried to remember if he’d done that. He blinked at Dean, looking disappointed, and Dean softened instantly. “Never mind Cas. You’re fine. So what did you want?” 

“You said you would tell me what a blow job was.” He smiled innocently, “If it has to do with poetry like you said I think I might like it!” Dean paled. He’d completely forgotten he’d promised Cas he’d explain later. But while he was in the shower and already half hard? Trust Cas to pick the most awkward time possible to remind him. He wiggled his toes nervously, and wiped water from his forehead. Cas waited patiently, watching him with a curious expression. 

“You know, it will be easier if I just show you.” Dean was shocked at his own calm, almost careless words. From the sound of his voice he was reading the paper, commenting on the weather, not agreeing to give his very first blow job. “Ok, show me.” Cas said, eager. 

“You gotta come in here then.” Still, Dean was impressed with his own collectedness. Sure, he was sort of trembling all over, but his voice was as cocky and calm as ever. Cas’ eyebrows rose a little. “In the shower? With you? But I thought you said-”  

“Cmon, you think I’m that ugly naked?” He joked, cracking a nervous grin. 

“Of course not Dean.” 

“Well then get in here already!” Dean hastened quietly, “Before I change my mind.” 

Cas didn’t seem to understand exactly what was going on, but he didn’t have to be asked twice. He undid the buttons on his shirt easily, then let it fall to a puddle on the floor. His pants joined it a few seconds later. Dean watched him, lips pressed roughly between his front teeth, and water dripping from his hair and onto the tiles. When the angel stood there in only his boxers, Dean ducked behind the curtain again, forcing himself to look away. That tingly heat coursing through him was getting intense already, and he hadn’t even touched Cas yet. “Just…take off your boxers and…come in.” This time, Dean’s voice belayed his shakiness a little. This was so beyond anything he was normally comfortable with. _What am I doing?_

He closed his eyes instinctively when he felt the cool air of the curtain dragging back on its rings. But his curiosity won out within seconds. He blinked the water from his eyes and stared at Cas. He stood with his arms at his sides, feet slightly apart on the wet shower floor. Dean let his eyes sweep downwards, over the angel’s chest, across the tiny curve of his stomach and on to the neat line of dark hair leading down to his cock. It was different, Dean decided, looking at Cas objectively the way he usually only looked at women. He was used to taking in the smiles, the blue eyes, the funny ways he said things, but this…he gave up trying to explain. Cas had an easiness about him, that angelic calm. He was obviously no more nervous under Dean’s gaze than he would have been in battle. 

Dean didn’t even realize how long he’d been staring until Cas cleared his throat and put out a hand to touch his arm. He started a little, then looked away, blushing. “Sorry,” He muttered. “Just…you know….t-talk about angelic man. You’re…you’re really goddamn beautiful and I..I..” He stammered, nerves mixed with intense arousal making it hard for him to form coherent sentences. Usually with girls he was so calm, so confident. Usually he didn’t feel like he was struggling to draw air, his heart pounding like it hadn’t in years. 

Cas smiled that slightly sideways smile at the compliment, and that only made things worse. Dean found himself unconsciously gripping his own cock, which was hard and pulsing under his fingers. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been that turned on. He watched the angel’s eyes slide down and linger on his fingers, with a look that was definitely more than his usual curiosity. That look didn’t help things either. Dean stroked himself a few times, and then took a deep breath. 

He started out with Cas’ neck. He dragged his lips gently over the angel’s jaw, then kissed his way down his neck, his movements a little more rough and frantic than he meant them to be. Cas was still for only a second, before he surged in closer, hands coming to rest firmly on Dean’s hips. His thumbs stroked over the soft skin there, light and almost of their own accord, and Dean was momentarily too distracted to do anything. He stood frozen, panting a little against Cas’ shoulder, as a shiver ran through him. “Keep going. I like this.” Cas’ voice was low, almost commanding, but undercut with just the tinniest tremble, and Dean leapt to obey instantly. He ducked his head to suck at the angel’s nipple, and Cas shivered in return and made the smallest sound of pleasure. His damp skin was warm under Dean’s tongue, like summer, like fire. Dean lapped at it, swirling the very tip of his tongue round the edge of his nipple, before slipping back into his downwards journey, tracing the path of the water droplets that dripped from Cas’ hair and ran down over his chest. 

Cas, Dean was happy to see, was losing his composure pretty quickly. As Dean dropped to his knees and pressed little kisses all over his stomach, he could feel the angel trembling. “You like this?” He murmured, tilting his head back to look up at Cas, blinking as the water hit his cheeks. Cas only nodded, looking a little bit dizzy, and then Dean was grinning in satisfaction and kissing him harder. Maybe Cas could turn him to a shaking mess without barely touching him, but hell if he wasn’t going to pay him right back. 

When he reached that little sweep of hair, he paused, suddenly nervous again. What if he was terrible? He’d received plenty of damn good head in his life, but he’d never been exactly taking notes. It was usually a little hard to concentrate. _But then again, this is Cas’ first time,_ Dean reminded himself hopefully, _he probably won’t even know if I suck._ “Ok Cas.” Dean murmured, taking a deep breath. “Th-this is it. This is a blow job.” 

He started out slow, hesitant, not sure what to do with his hands, or whether he was supposed to close his eyes or not. Once he got going though, it wasn’t so hard. He pressed his tongue experimentally to the tip of Cas’ cock, lapping up the droplets of water mixed with pre-cum. Fingers twined in his hair at that, gripping handfuls and tugging as he licked his way up the underside. The skin there was surprisingly soft, almost fragile, like the petals of a flower. There was a sweetness too, that Dean hadn’t expected. He licked Cas again, and the angel shuddered under him, fingers dragging harder as his hair. 

When he finally pulled as much of Cas’ cock into his mouth as he could, Cas was breathing so hard that Dean could hear each gasp, sharp even above the sound of the water. He lets his eyes fall closed then, tightening his lips. His hands found their way to the skin just below Cas’ stomach, and he let them stay there, just resting while his mouth did all the work. His nerves faded slightly, because Cas was damn near shaking under him, making these little sounds of surprised pleasure every time he tried something new. It was pretty amazing, if Dean were completely honest. He never imagined he’d like giving a blow job, but then again it was Cas, and he liked everything with Cas. 

The angel didn’t last long. His hands pulled on Dean’s hair so hard that he flinched ever so slightly, and then with a little whimper that sounded like Dean’s name, his grip loosened, and he slumped back against the tile wall, limp and exhausted. Dean’s eyes flicked open in a moment of panic as his mouth filled with warm come, but he managed to swallow thickly, only choking a little. He wiped his lips messily with the back of his hand, before letting his forehead fall to rest against Cas’ thigh. The water streamed over his back. Everything was still, save their heavy, stuttering breath, and the constant sound of the water on the shower curtain. Without moving or opening his eyes, Dean stroked himself lazily until he came too, grunting and shuddering. Cas’ hands smoothed his wet hair wordlessly back from his forehead as he tried to remember how to catch his breath against the fuzzy blankness in his head. 

When Dean finally pulled himself to his feet, woozy and sated, he was met with an expression of utter awe. Cas looked at him the was most people would look at a great masterpiece in a museum, or maybe their favorite celebrity. He looked at Dean like he had just witnessed a miracle, mouth the slightest bit open and eyes wide. “What? Was I that bad?” Dean joked, grinning slightly. He’d never rendered anyone that completely awestruck before, and he had to say he was a little proud. “No!” Cas said immediately, adamantly. “No that was….that was amazing.” His lips drew up into a smile, and Dean’s own grin widened. “If you think that was good, just wait till you have actual sex!” He giggled, “Bet you’re regretting turning down that prostitute now huh?” 

“No.” Cas said simply. “She wasn’t you.” Dean had no idea what to say to that, not that he would have been able to form words around the sudden lump in his throat anyway, so he just pulled the angel fiercely against his chest. Cradling his head with one hand, he pressed a kiss into his dripping hair. They stayed like that until the water started to run cold, and Dean murmured, “Let’s go to bed.”


	22. Chapter 22

It was nearly three weeks before Sam turned up another case, and for once Dean wasn’t particularly excited to be back at hunting. Besides a few nights when Dean would wake to a quiet room, Cas stayed. Dean wasn’t sure if it was for him, or simply because he didn’t have any new leads on finding his dad, but he didn’t question it. He had someone to laugh at his brother’s copious sense of hair styles with, and someone to fall asleep with, which wasn’t something he’d realized he was missing. You’d never tell from looking at him, but Cas was quite the cuddler. Even if he fell asleep on the opposite side of the bed, or on another bed entirely, Dean always woke up with an angel wrapped around him so tightly he sometimes had to shove him away sleepily in order to breathe. But it was always better than waking up alone. 

Not to mention that the nightmares all but disappeared. Instead of a healthy dose of whiskey to knock him out, Dean started falling asleep almost easily. It was strange, getting 6 or 7 hours of sleep, interrupted only by Cas’ occasional mumbling, or a cold nose pressed to the back of his neck. Strange, definitely, but good strange. Dean certainly wasn’t complaining. He still kept a safe distance away from Cas whenever possible in public, but he’d given up all pretense of that at night, where no one would know if now and then he pretended to be asleep just so he could curl a little closer to the angel without seeming creepy. 

They started getting two hotel rooms. It started when Sam went out one night to pick up a pie (at Dean’s request of course) and came back to find Dean and Cas curled up together on top of the covers in only their boxers, fast asleep. Dean swore up and down that nothing at all had happened, but Sam wasn’t having it, so two rooms it was. Again, Dean wasn’t complaining. He sure as hell didn’t want his brother watching him cuddle with Cas, or taking pictures to save as blackmail. So despite the extra money they had to fork over in every single town, it was worth it. Besides, all the money was stolen through credit fraud anyway, so what was the harm? 

For the first week, they simply drove. It was getting colder by the day, and the rain slashing against the windshield threatened again and again to turn to snow. They played through Dean’s tapes on repeat until Cas was singing along quietly in his scratchy low voice, and Sam was threatening to shoot himself. They stopped at bars and diners, and even one bowling alley where Cas accidentally threw his ball straight through the floor, and Dean laughed so hard he choked on his beer. They found a restaurant that served 40 different kinds of pies, and Dean tried (with little success) to convince Sam and Cas to let him try all of them. 

In the second week Dean taught Cas how to play poker, and Cas kicked his ass on his very first attempt. Sam went to a book fair and came back with so many novels and horribly boring looking encyclopedias on ancient myths and religions that they couldn’t even fit in the trunk of the Impala, and had to be piled in the back seat. After that, Dean decided that Cas deserved shotgun, and Sammy was demoted to the back with his books. He complained considerably about the legroom, but Dean just told him to shove it. At night, Sam would gather up a few of his new acquisitions, and Dean would mutter _“Nerd.”_ under his breath. 

The third week was too short. They didn’t do much besides eat burgers, watch crappy TV and sleep. Dean had never been much into sleeping. Maybe it was the nightmares, or maybe the vulnerability. Maybe it was just the fact that he’d gotten used to thinking of sleep as another monster. Even as a kid, he had had to keep a knife under his pillow in case he needed to protect Sammy. Even then he had never slept more than four hours or so. But now, thing were different. With the dead weight of Cas’ arm thrown protectively around his waist, he found himself sleeping in past ten, waking up warm and happy. So when he was rudely awoken by Sam at only 8am with the announcement of a new job, he was anything but thrilled. In fact, he might have told his brother to fuck off, before tucking his head back under Cas’ chin. But Sam was insistent, and so here they were, pulling up in front of a sprawling mansion somewhere in Connecticut. 

“Well that’s just hilarious.” Dean snorted as he pulled up and parked the car. The place looked so much like the stereotypical haunted house that he was slightly suspicious. Boarded up windows, a freaking turret, and even a crow perched on the roof. “If this whole job is just a joke to get back at me for spending more time with Cas than you, I swear to god Sammy..” Dean warned, but Sam just shot him his best bitch face and headed for the weapons, slamming the door. Dean rolled his eyes, and shifted his attention to Cas, who sat in the passengers seat, waiting patiently for instruction. “Ok Cas, you aren’t a hunter, so no stupid moves in there you hear? I know you’re Mr. Invincible angel and everything, but I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Alright Dean.” Cas nodded. 

“And stay behind me.” 

“Dean I’m not a child.” 

“Stay behind me.” Dean’s voice clearly said that there was absolutely no space for argument, so Cas squinted at him for a moment before nodding. 

Since Cas had never used a gun in his life, Dean decided he would have to be fine with his angel blade, and an iron poker he dug out from under a rack of knives in case of spirits. “If you see a ghost, you just swipe it with this ok?” He explained, pressing it into Cas’ hand. “They don’t like iron.” Sammy stuffed his pockets with extra shells of rock salt, and Dean tucked the demon knife into the inside of his jacket. “So what did you say this job was about again?” He asked Sam, as they closed the trunk and headed for the stairs. 

“Well, pretty much a couple of teenagers came out here on a dare or something, and were never seen again. They sent a cop out, and when she never came back, they sent a few more people out to investigate and found her dead on the porch. She appeared to have been strangled or suffocated, but they couldn’t find any fingerprints. I’m assuming a vengeful spirit." 

“Damn teenagers. They never know what’s good for them.” Dean muttered. 

“You’re one to talk. Do you know how reckless and stupid you were as a teenager?” 

“What and you weren’t?” 

“No Dean, I wasn’t. If I wasn’t dragged along hunting with dad I studied and read. I don’t see how that’s reckless.” 

“Books can be dangerous! What about those latin spell books of Bobby’s? You can summon all sorts of bad sons of bitches with those things!" 

“Did anyone ever tell you how much you suck at comebacks?” Sam smirked, and Dean shoved him with the butt of his gun. “Shut up bitch.” 

The front door wasn’t locked, but there were three thick pieces of wood nailed crosswise over it. The bottom one had been broken in, but to get past they still had to crawl, which Dean wasn’t all that keen on. Inside, the haunted house stereotype was upheld by thick strands of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and dust so thick along the edges of the room that Dean sneezed, disturbing the quiet. They stepped softly through the front hall and into a huge dining room, Dean in the lead and Cas and Sam just on his heels. The towering windows were darkened by thick velvet curtains, and the center of the ceiling was dominated by an elaborate chandelier that was so massive it could have crushed a grown man like a fly. Dean whistled softly, glancing back at his brother. “Check out the size of that thing!” 

They explored the dark corners of the room, poked at the curtains and peered under the table, but there was nothing strange. “Ok, lets split up.” Dean decided, eyeing a door made of dark wood that he assumed led to the basement. “Sam, you go upstairs and check for anything weird, and me and Cas will hit up the basement. Meet back here in ten.” 

“Dean,” Cas interjected, “We could cover more ground if I went to the attic while you searched the basement.” 

“No. You’re staying with me feathers.” Dean said without even considering the truth of his statement. He’d had one too many nightmares about Cas’ death, and he wasn’t about to watch anything happen to him for real. Cas looked like he wanted to protest, but Dean shot him a pointed look and he softened. Sammy just shrugged, flicked on his flashlight and headed for the stairs, calling “See you back here in a while.” over his shoulder. 

Without his brother lingering behind them, Dean let himself move a little closer to Cas, running his fingers casually down his arm. “Alright, remember what I said, iron for spirits, stay behind me, don’t die, all that.” He let his fingertips linger on Cas’ hand, before turning back to the door. The knob was faceted glass, and it turned easily, opening onto a staircase leading down into darkness. With his gun clutched in one hand and his flashlight in the other, Dean motioned for Cas to follow, before stepping onto the first stair. 

With every step, the old wood creaked and groaned, each sound painfully loud in the quiet. Dean grimaced, but continued downwards. If there was a vengeful spirit around being quiet on the stairs wouldn’t make a lick of difference anyway. At the bottom the wood gave way to a floor that seemed to be made only of hard packed dirt. Dean shone his flashlight around, illuminating shelves full of books and jars and strange knickknacks. Along the closest wall were more relics of a life long gone; a dust coated piano, a pair of wooden skis, and old hunting rifle. The only light came from Dean’s flashlight, and one tiny window set up near the ceiling that was so coated in grime and cobwebs and choked with weeds from the outside that it was impossible to see out of. 

Dean turned left, towards the larger part of the basement, and Cas followed. Their footsteps were muffled on the dirt, which was covered here and there with rugs and pieces of carpet and cloth. They passed the piano, and a shelf full of what looked like canned fruits and vegetables in blue glass jars. Dean glanced behind him every few moments, just to be sure Cas was still there. Of course he always was, sticking just behind Dean with his iron fire poker at the ready. 

“You see anything strange? I mean, besides that thing.” Dean whispered, jabbing his gun in the direction of a stuffed bobcat’s head nailed to a plaque in front of them. Dean could have sworn it was looking at him. “No, I don’t think so.” Cas shook his head almost imperceptibly in the dimness. They kept going, further into the shadows at the back of the house, where an old leather chair sat beside a broken lamp. “Did Sam ever say if they found those kid’s bodies or not?” Dean turned, and froze. Cas wasn’t behind him anymore. 

“Cas?” Dean called, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Cas, where’d you go? I thought I told you to stay behind me!” There was no answer. Dean strained his ears, but everything was as still as before. _“Goddammit”_ Dean muttered, turning back towards the stairs. _“And just when I thought he was finally done acting like a five-year old! It was one simple instruction.”_ Dean kicked at the corner of an ornately woven rug under his feet in an anger that was more worry than anything. 

“Cas?” He called again, skirting a pile of old leather bound books. “Dammit Cas this isn’t funny. Where are you?” He hurried all the way back to the bottom of the staircase, shining his light into every corner, but there was no sign of an angel in a trench coat. He cursed softly, and was just about to head into the other side of the basement when there was a crash from behind him. Dean swore, and spun on his heels so quickly he almost fell. The figure glaring at him with an expression of utmost anger was certainly not Cas. He looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, with white blond hair, and an outfit straight from the 1800’s. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his face was white as paper, and he was definitely not alive. Dean sighed, and shot him. 

The teenage ghost dissipated with a crack. Dean sighed, and keeping his gun held at the ready, finger on the trigger, went back to looking for Cas. He was just peering around a bookshelf when the boy appeared again, dead eyes only a foot or two from his face. Dean started in surprise and shot him again, his heart pounding from the shock. “Cas?” This time he didn’t even bother to be quiet. “You get your ass back here now, we’ve got a spirit on our hands and I don’t want you wandering around! I like you man, but you’re a horrible hunter.” 

There was another sound behind Dean, and this time when he spun it actually was the angel. He came stumbling out from behind a bookshelf, swaying a little with a dazed expression on his face. Dean was next to him in an instant, holding onto his arm to make sure he didn’t fall. “What the hell happened to you? I told you to stay with me!” His voice was harsh, but it was all worry. 

“I…I swung at the ghost like you said.” Cas mumbled, eyes on the floor. “I think I missed. Different balance than my angel blade.” 

“Oh Cas.” Dean shook his head, worry turning to a small smirk of amusement. “I can’t let you out of my sight can I? You alright though?” He tucked his hand around Cas’ waist protectively. Cas nodded slowly and pushed Dean away. “I’m fine.” Dean stepped away awkwardly, looking a little hurt. “I was just trying to help.” 

“Dean I just hit my head. It’s nothing. My grace can heal this easily.” He closed his eyes and screwed his face up in concentration, before putting his hands out and raising an eyebrow. “See? I’m just fine.” But there was something strange in his eyes. Dean peered at him a while, then shrugged, deciding it was probably just his imagination. 

He scuffed his feet on the dirt floor, feeling kind of stupid for worrying. Cas was an awesome being of light and power, not the baby in a trench coat Dean often saw him as. It was hard to remember sometimes that he was more than those confused squinty eyes and innocent questions. “Well, lets kill this bastard then.” he said, patting Cas’ arm awkwardly. “Since you’re so tough.” Cas smiled proudly, the poor guy had a hard time with sarcasm, and Dean just shook his head again, smiling himself. “We gotta figure out where he’s buried, so we can burn the bones. Lets go see if Sammy has any clues.” 

The traipsed back up the stairs, surprisingly unimpeded by the spirit, which had yet to reappear after it’s second chest full of rock salt. On the other side of the dining room they followed Sammy’s footprints in the thick dust clinging to the carpet. They led them down the hall and up a huge flight of sleek wooden stairs. Each step was so wide that three or four people could have walked up side by side, and Dean was glad when Cas fell into step next to him. As they headed up, painted portraits of men with cold faces and women who’s eyes all looked dead peered down at them from ornate gold frames. When they passed a particularly creepy young woman with a wart on her cheek and lips that seemed much too big for her face, Dean nudged Cas and pointed. “Look Cas, I think I’ve found the one for you! Isn’t she pretty?” Cas stopped to squint at the painting for a moment, before continuing his climb. “I think you’re prettier.” He said over his shoulder, calm as anything, and for a few seconds Dean forget he was supposed to be walking. 

At the top of the stairs they turned right, and Dean called “Hey Sam! We found our guy, or at least we found some spirit. You find anything about where some teenager with a bad haircut and a civil war outfit might have been buried?” There was a muffed reply from somewhere down the hall, so Dean and Cas followed the sounds to the last door on the left. Sam sat in the middle of the room, thumbing through a small, leather bound book. Dean plopped down next to him. “What’s that?” 

“A journal.” 

“Sam this is a guy we’re looking for here, not a girl. I think you’ve got the wrong room.” 

“Dean, men can write in journals too. Look at dad.” Sam pointed out. Dean looked unconvinced. “That’s different. That thing is informational! It’s about hunting, not emotional bullshit.” 

“Dean I know you like to think you’re above emotion and all that, but do you know how many times I’ve seen you cry like a baby? Or what about the way you look at Cas? You should see yourself.” Sam looked extremely proud of himself when Dean gulped and promptly gave up arguing. 

The brothers poured over the journal together, once Dean had gotten enough self possession back not to punch Sam. It turned out that the journal had, it seemed, belonged to the spirit Dean had run into in the basement. “James Riley,” Sam murmured quietly, moving his finger under the neat writing on the first page. “Wonder how he died?” Dean just shrugged, and muttered “Can we just ice the thing and get out of here already?” The truth was, that even when Cas insisted he was fine, Dean worried. The guy was so clueless sometimes. It didn’t matter that James was just about the lamest vengeful spirit Dean had ever met, Cas had no experience with hunting, and he didn’t like it. His mind kept slipping back to the thought of lazy mornings, drifting awake to sleepy fingers on his chest and a shock of unruly hair tickling his chin. _Oh god I’m going all soft. Cas isn’t a goddamn child and neither am I!_ Dean rubbed his forehead, like that would somehow cure all the thoughts of Cas buzzing around in there. “I think we should probably just go to the nearest cemetery and look for a James Riley don’t you think?” He said decidedly, pushing himself to his feet and going to stand by Cas who was still leaning in the doorway. “I kind of doubt Mr. civil war dude decided to master the art of moving things with his ghost powers so he could come write in his diary about how much dying sucked. We aren’t gonna find anything in there.” 

“Well, lets head down to the graveyard then.” Sam agreed, sounding slightly exasperated. 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, so being inconspicuous while grave digging is going to be tough, but I guess it’s our best plan of action.” 

“Hell yeah it is. I came up with it.” Dean grinned, relieved. Looking out for his brother and Cas was a lot of work, even if it was just a stupid spirit. With hunting you never knew what could happen, and when Dean let his guard down, that was when bad things happened. So maybe he was stupid for worrying about an angel, but he didn’t care. He had every damn right to worry about people, so long as he didn’t get sappy and start telling them. 

The drive to the graveyard was quiet. No vengeful ghosts chasing them down to sabotage the car or anything. It almost seemed a bit too easy to leave the mansion. Never a good sign. If two kids and a cop were killed for poking around, then why not them? It just made Dean worry more. 

They found the grave easily, and in the deserted pre-dusk light took turns digging until they uncovered the coffin. The boy’s skeleton looked small, laid out all neatly in the bottom of the simple wood box. Dean had long since given up trying to feel sorry for those whose bodies were long gone anyway. It didn’t help anything. But the kids could still get him now and then, even teenagers. Even with direct evidence, it was so hard to think of kids as monsters. 

“You wanna do the honors Cas?” Dean asked, presenting him with a lighter as Sam poured in some gasoline, and then a healthy amount of rock salt. Cas looked uncertain. “He’s going to a better place.” Dean assured him, nudging his arm. “Go on, salt and burn baby. The anthem of a hunter. If you plan on joining us, you better learn it.” The angel closed his eyes for a second, as if in prayer, before tossing the lighter into the mess of salt and bones. They caught easily, flames driven by the breeze murmuring through the trees. 

They all stood there a while, watching the flames consume the skeleton, and lick their way up the sides of the coffin. Dean glanced over at Cas, and when he saw his somber expression, wrapped an arm around his waist. Without a word, the angel leaned gratefully against him, and he smiled the slightest bit. “You must be our good luck charm Cas.” He murmured, as Sam gathered up the bag of salt. “That’s the easiest hunt we’ve had in ages.” He scooped up the shovels and handed one to Cas. “You wanna fill in the hole with me?” 

“You go, I’ve got it.” Cas insisted. “I’ll meet you in the car.” Bemused, Dean just shrugged. “Ok, whatever you want. Just don’t take three hours or anything I want some dinner. We should go get some burgers and beers to celebrate the best case in ages, huh?” 

It wasn’t until he was sitting in the car, head tilted back on the seat while he waited for Cas, that he heard the shout and realized he’d spoken too soon.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean was out of the car and up the hill in 20 seconds flat. His heart was pounding, and it only got worse when he skidded to a stop next to the half covered grave. Cas’ lay face down in the dirt, legs spread and one arm at a strange angle. “Cas?” Dean dove to the ground next to him, turning him carefully onto his back with shaking hands. The angel’s face was pale and his eyes were closed. Blood trickled from his lips and down his chin in a thin, dark line. There was a deep gash across one cheek. “No, no no! Cas open your eyes dammit!” Dean was half straddling the angel, cupping his cheeks with both hands, shaking him “Cas, please, open your eyes for god sakes!” he begged. “I left you for five minutes!” His voice sounded scratchy and painful, even to his own ears. 

Cas didn’t move. Nearly hysterical Dean reached for his wrist, and sighed in relief to find that he still had a pulse. He wasn’t dead. Trying to calm his breakneck heartbeat, Dean took deep breaths as he stroked Cas’ face, murmuring anything soothing he could think of, pleading silently for him to just wake up, just open his eyes.. When he finally did, they looked almost too blue against the blood. He whimpered, and looked around, his expression fearful. “Cas, hey, calm down.” Dean soothed, eyes swimming in tears of relief. “Baby I’m right here. You’re safe. I got you.” 

Cas’ eyes met Dean’s and he relaxed, his second frightened moan turing to a sigh of relief. “Sam told me that…that baby is something you call someone you love.” His voice was weak, but he managed a small smile. “You called me baby.” He swallowed, and grimaced at the taste of blood in his mouth. Dean just stared at him, two infuriating tears snaking down his cheeks before he could wipe them away. “What the hell happened to you Cas?” He plunged on though, before Cas could explain. “Don’t do that again you hear? I thought you were…dead!” The vision of Cas in his blue linen shirt with a bullet hole through his chest shot so vividly through Dean’s head that he flinched. “Cas I…I couldn’t deal with you dying, ok?” His hands were shaking even harder, and all he wanted was to tear all the angel’s clothes off and feel his skin. He needed that contact desperately. But they were in the middle of a freaking graveyard and it was getting cold. “Cmon, lets get you back the motel and get you cleaned up. You can explain later.” Dean decided.

*******

Back at the motel, Dean sat Cas down on the edge of the bathtub and started helping him with his clothes. The collar of his coat, half of the front of his shirt and a good portion of his tie were stained dark with blood. Dean piled everything in the sink and turned the water on, hoping a good soaking would clean it up. The thought of the angel without that silly coat made him ridiculously sad. Cas sat in his grass-flecked slacks, back bent and arms wrapped around himself, shivering slightly as he watched Dean scrubbing at the bloodied fabric in silence. 

Dean was still in the process of trying to calm himself down. He could deal with a lot, but put the words _Cas_ and _death_ together in one sentence and things got bad, same way they did with his brother. He wanted to ask what had happened, be he was afraid he would yell or cry or do something equally embarrassing. He had a lot of emotion in the back of his throat, and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

Cas, however, spoke up of his own accord. “The job was a trap.” He voice was cautious, quiet, like he was afraid to break Dean’s silence. But Dean flipped off the tap and turned to face him. “What do you mean?” 

“It was…one of my brothers who attacked me. He gave Sam the information about the spirit, knowing we would go to investigate. When you left me to fill in the grave he came at me from behind. He held me down and told me…” He paused momentarily, something dark in his eyes, before continuing. “He told me that I was nothing but a traitor to heaven. He cut me enough times with an angel blade that the wounds would take some time to heal, and then left me. I..I must have been unconscious for a little while, because when I opened my eyes you were there.” Cas kept his gaze focused on the floor for the entirety of the story, but when he was finished he glanced up at Dean. His expression was one of exhaustion mixed with sadness, and he swayed a little on his perch. 

In an instant, Dean was on his knees next to him, steadying him with a hand on each arm. He had questions, like why the angel needed to plan such an elaborate diversion, and why he hadn’t just killed Cas off if he hated him so much. But poor Cas looked ready to collapse, and now wasn’t really the time to badger him. So instead Dean pulled him to his feet and lead him out to the bed, murmuring, “C’mon, you need some rest. You look exhausted.” Apparently too worn out to protest, Cas let Dean push him into bed and tuck the blankets around him. But when Dean went to walk back to the bathroom, the angel caught his sleeve and whispered, “Stay.” 

Dean didn’t have to be asked twice. He didn’t bother with his clothes, but simply kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to Cas with a tired sigh, scooting himself under the covers. The violent urge to touch Cas had faded into more of a need to protect him. With a tired sigh Dean pressed himself against the angel’s back, wrapped his arms around him and stroked the skin of his chest like it was something precious. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there. I should have killed that bastard for touching you.” Dean’s voice was rough with something like anger, but quiet too. Cas didn’t answer, except by reaching up to take one of Dean’s hands in his own, tightly. The lamp still glowed on Cas’ side of the bed, but neither of them wanted to get up to turn it off. 

It didn’t take long for Cas’ breathing to slow. Though the angel slept more and more lately, just because he liked being close to Dean, he was never the first one to drift off. Dean was a master at staying awake, and yet every time he drifted off, Cas was still stroking his hair, or staring absently up at the ceiling. No matter how hard he tried, Dean could never watch Cas fall asleep. And yet here he was, feeling the grip on his fingers loosen, feeling the body against him go slack and still, and he decided he hated it. He wanted to wake Cas up again, just to be sure he was ok. _No, that’s stupid!_ he chided himself, _He’s fine. He just needs some rest._

As it was though, Dean lay awake for a long time. His phone buzzed a few times, worried texts from Sam most likely, who he’d ditched in the parking lot with almost not explanation, but he didn’t want to let go of Cas to check. His brother would just have to wait. He considered getting something to drink, because he didn’t really want to think any more about the fact that he kept on goddamn failing people. What would his dad say? _“Dean, you can’t even protect your brother. You got no business tryin’ to look out for anyone else.”_ Dean decided that sounded about right. But he didn’t get a drink. He stayed with Cas. He pressed his lips to that dip on the back of his neck and whispered, “I ain’t gonna stop looking out for you, you know that Cas. I…I…I really…care about you.” The clock above the door ticked incessantly, just off time with the angel’s breathing, and Dean listened to the two of them until he finally fell asleep. 

*******

When Dean woke the walls were speckled with sunlight from the curtains they hadn’t bothered to shut, and Cas was staring at him. He started, and then smiled, “Hey, how you feeling?” 

“Much better thank you.” Cas informed him, steady gaze fixed. Dean yawned, nodding his satisfaction. Of course Cas was fine. He had magical angel healing powers. But it was good to see him back at being his awkward, I-want-to-watch-you-sleep self. 

“Well get over here and kiss me then.” Dean mumbled, and Cas pressed in quickly, like he’d been waiting for Dean to ask just that. The thought made Dean grin, and he pulled away to ruffle Cas’ hair. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You scared me back there you know. I…I don’t wanna see you all pale and…and dead looking like that. It wasn’t funny.” His face grew somber. “You gotta be more careful.” 

For a moment it looked like Cas was going to protest. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, frowning. He appeared to be studying Dean, staring at him intently for a few long seconds before he spoke. “I’ll be more careful Dean. But you need to stop blaming yourself for everything. You try your best, but you can’t keep everyone safe, every single time. It’s not your fault I was hurt.” 

“But..” 

“No Dean, I won’t hear your arguments!” Cas hushed him almost harshly. “You look at me Dean Winchester. You need to stop. You are an undoubtably good man, and you deserve to make mistakes sometimes. Like you told me, remember, when I was afraid of my mistakes, you told me that one’s mistakes don’t cancel out who they are. That is very sound advice Dean, and I think you should remember it.” He reached out and stroked Dean’s cheek, and Dean tried to pretend he wasn’t shaking. “I’ll…work on that.” He promised, forcing a smile, but even Cas wasn’t fooled. He looked impossibly sad, and kissed Dean’s forehead as soft as insect wings. 

For a while they were still, but for Dean’s fingers skimming lightly over the skin of Cas’ lower back, moving of their own accord as much as anything. The room felt very warm, and safe, and Dean was so incredibly grateful for another morning with Cas that he might have gotten a little choked up, if he wasn’t so busy making sure he didn’t. The angel just made him emotional apparently. In fact, he was just working himself up to tell Cas that maybe, possibly he kind of loved him, when the angel broke the silence. “Hey Dean?” 

“Yeah Cas?” Dean was proud of how normal his voice sounded, as if he hadn’t been this close to making the biggest confession of his life. “What’s up?” 

“I was thinking, that thing you did to me in the shower, a blow job correct? Well, that was very pleasurable for me, and I was wondering if you could teach me. I’d like to do that for you sometime.” 

Dean’s eyes grew so wide they probably looked like their own green-brown islands. Had Cas really just offered to give him a blow job? And not just any blow job, an _angelic_ blow job. He half wondered if he’d died and gone to heaven without realizing it. He laughed, cheeks a whole lot more flushed than they should have been. “Cas, that’s not really how it works. You don’t learn how to give a blow job, you just kind of… _do_ it. Look, I ain’t even particularly good. That time in the shower, that was my first try…so I hardly think I should be the one to teach you… Not that I want anyone else teaching you either!” He added quickly. 

Cas looked a little disappointed, and Dean’s heart beat hard in his chest. “I could, uh, teach you to use your hands?” He suggested, and his voice was in no way shaky. “I’m pretty damn good at that.” He rolled onto his side, facing Cas. Biting his lip, he reached for Cas’ hands, and the angel held them out easily. Cas’ fingers were very warm. _Oh god what am I doing?_ Dean asked himself a little frantically, before taking a deep breath and guiding them downwards. He had squirmed out of his jeans already sometime in the night, but he still wore boxers of course. 

As soon as their tangled hands reached that border between skin and elastic, Cas pulled his free and plunged on without Dean’s help. “I thought I was….” Dean squeaked, but Cas shook his head. “Quiet Dean. I can figure this out just fine on my own. Just the way you do to yourself sometimes right?” 

_“What?”_ Dean choked, but then those warm fingers were wrapping around his cock, and he was far too distracted to get properly pissed at Cas for not only watching him sleep, but also apparently watching him jack off. 

Cas had no idea what he was doing, and it was evident. He was plenty enthusiastic, but his movements were sloppy, and he gripped Dean very loosely, like he was afraid he’d hurt him. In spite of Cas' inexperience, however, Dean was too aroused to instruct him. Everything was blurred, the squares of sunlight turning the backs of his eyelids soft orange. He nuzzled his nose into the angel's neck, his eyes scrunched tightly closed. His whole body quivered with every careful movement of Cas' hand, and he didn't think he could have stilled himself even if he wanted too. There was something that drew him to Cas in the way he'd never been drawn to anyone before. He'd kissed far too many people to count, and slept with women that were no more to him than the brush of hair and the faint scent of perfume they left on his clothes. But Cas was never like that. He smelled of soap, and never would have let Dean push him from his mind like the memories of some drunken night’s adventure. Dean thought that if you took everything good in the world, the wind on the highway and the taste of pie and stuck it together into one body, you'd get Cas. So the angel could have been giving him the goddamn worst hand job in the world, and he wouldn't even have noticed, because it was Cas. 

It only got harder to hold himself together. Cas learned quickly that if he tightened his grip just a little and moved just a bit faster, he could have Dean panting and gasping hot against his skin. Dean finally managed a rather strangled little "Fuck...Caaaas." Which just made the angel grin and jerk at his cock even faster. Dean pressed harder against the curve of Cas neck, until his teeth scraped skin. It helped anchor him, that pressure against his lips and the almost unnoticeable, but still distinctive taste of Cas. 

When Dean was completely lost, thoughts as blurred and backwards as his vision, and skin hot, the angel pulled away. Dean whined, actually goddamn whimpered, which should have embarrassed him because Dean Winchester certainly did not beg for sexual favors under any circumstances whatsoever. "Please...?" He rasped, "Please touch me again Cas." Ok, maybe he didn't _usually_ beg, but this was pretty much an emergency. 

Cas cupped Dean's face with both hands and tugged it from its place on his shoulder. Dean peeled his eyes open and stared him, each puff of air that passed his lips a ragged thing. "Why'd you stop?" One of the hands on his cheek was hot and slightly sticky, and without thinking Dean turned his head and pulled two of those fingers into his mouth, sucking at them rough and sloppy to distract himself from his pulsing cock. Cas' lips twitched in surprise. His eyes widened just a little, and Dean grinned accidentally, giving the angel the chance he needed to tug his now slippery fingers free and bury them in Dean's hair. 

Cas held Dean's face just a few inches from his, and looked at him with an intensity that was almost palpable. Dean gazed back, still breathing hard, and didn't even consider begging for anything again. Everything about the angel radiated electric power. His blue eyes were fierce, his fingers ten points of lightning that dug into Dean's scalp just enough to sting a little. Dean had the sudden urge to close his eyes, fold his hands and pray. But before he could formulate anything like words, Cas surged forward and kissed him roughly, before growling, "I love you Dean." Dean came so hard to the sound of those words on Cas' lips that everything went hazy pale. He couldn't see or hear anything, and could feel only fingers smoothing his hair, and the wild pounding of his own heart. 

Dean slipped back into understanding sleepily, to the brush of fingers on his temple. The crumpled sheets were the white waves of a quiet ocean around their bodies, which had pressed themselves as close together as possible. Nothing in the world was half as good as that quiet moment, Dean decided. Nothing could compare to Cas. Nothing. He blinked, and Cas smiled at him, with sunlight all over his cheeks. "Your brother knew what he was talking about," Dean mumbled with a sated smirk, "Baby you've got the making of a real porn star." 

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or not." Cas said, knitting his brows, and Dean gigged. "Yeah Cas, that was definitely a compliment. Damn, that was the best sex I've had in years and that wasn't even sex." He rolled onto his back and pulled Cas down onto his chest, yawning thickly. "Shit Cas. I don't even know what to do with myself. Just...dammit you're so good." 

They lay there a long time, touching each other lightly, fingers brushing over collar bones and backs and foreheads. Dean was a little distracted, thinking about what Cas had said, and why he’d chosen that moment to say it. Dean was used to those three words being something to avoid, something to run away from as fast as he possibly could. Usually, those words instilled in him a kind of frantic terror, but now all he felt was a sort of warm happiness. He sure as hell wasn't quite ready to say anything about love himself, but someone had just said they loved him and he wasn't scrambling to get out of town, and that was huge. "Hey Cas?" He mumbled, "You're my favorite angel, ‘kay? But let's get up before I fall asleep again. We should probably go to the laundromat and get your clothes washed up. Don't want all that blood to stain. Oh! And how are you feeling, by the way? You were pretty out of it last night." Dean realized he was talking a mile a minute, but he was trying to keep himself from getting too sentimental. Something about the post orgasmic daze made him want to wrap himself around the angel and kiss him all over, murmuring his adoration into Cas' hair. But that was definitely not happening. 

Neither of them were very excited about the prospect of getting up, but the alarm clock said it was past 10, and Dean knew Sam would be worried. Sure enough, when he pushed Cas off of him with one more sloppy kiss on the forehead, he found the the had four missed calls and three texts from his brother. He felt kind of bad for making Sam worry, but he was more than grateful that he hadn't decided to bust the door down, as was Winchester custom. That would have made for an uncomfortable situation. 

Dean dragged on his boxers and yesterday's wrinkled jeans, crinkling his nose a little at the muddy cuffs and small speckles of dried blood up his thighs. His plaid flannel was even more grimy, so he slipped his leather jacket right over his undershirt and called it good, despite how cold the room was. He only had one clean change of clothes and he had to save that for Cas. He wasn't about to drive the guy to the laundromat half naked. Not only did he not want anyone else looking at Cas, because no way was he sharing, but judging by the frost on the windows it was even colder outside. 

When Dean turned around, he found Cas watching him with an expression of approval. "What are you looking at?" Dean said with a raised eyebrow, and Cas, much to his amusement, squirmed guiltily. "Sam told me that love isn't just about what people look like, but Dean you're so beautiful…” 

“What the hell is with you getting all this relationship advice crap from my brother? What, did you go ask him how to win my heart or something?” Dean asked, turning back to rummage in his bag from something for Cas to wear. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sammy isn’t exactly an expert in the relationship department. You see him bringing home the ladies? No, I didn’t think so. I say go for attractive all the way!” 

“But Sam said..” 

“Cas I’m kidding. You think I like your for your pretty eyes and your…well…ok I do like your body, but that’s not the point. I mean…” He fumbled for the right words, “I mean it’s not one or the other, you can like people because they’re hot _and_ because they’re wonderful and funny and nice and good cuddlers….” He trailed off, blushing slightly. 

“I was under the impression you thought my jokes were ‘shitty!’” Cas said with narrowed eyes, but he was smiling. 

“Well, they are. But you’re still funny.” Dean assured him, tossing him a pair of jeans and and a plaid flannel shirt. “Now get dressed pretty boy before Sammy decides to break down the door to see if we’re ok.”


	24. Chapter 24

The first snow of winter fell on December 15th. Dean was asleep, sprawled on his back with his mouth half open when something shoved him. He grumbled in sleepy annoyance, and shoved back, but Cas was insistent. “Dean, wake up.” He prodded, “Come see.” 

“Caaass. I’m sleeeeping.” Dean slurred, opening one eye to glare the angel, who was wide awake and fully dressed next to him. “What time’sit anyway?” 

“6:30.” Cas said simply. “Now get up and come outside with me!” 

“Outside? wha’ the hell Cas. It’s cold.” Dean opened the other eye, and stared at Cas like he was going crazy. “And its still dark!” 

“Please? Dean it’s snowing! It’s beautiful. I haven’t seen snow from down here on earth in a very very long time." 

“For god sakes Cas, you woke me up for _snow?_ ” Dean rolled over and pressed his face into the side of Cas’ leg. He stubbornly closed his eyes, and tried to force himself back to sleep, but he was too wide awake. He sighed deeply, and opened his eyes again. “Fine. Fine I’ll get up and see the freaking snow with you, but only if you promise we can get back in bed when we come inside. Oh and you have to buy me breakfast too." 

“Agreed.” Cas said eagerly, half tugging Dean out of bed and pushing clothes into his arms. 

“Jesus, be patient!” Dean chuckled, buttoning his shirt with a yawn. “The snow will still be there in the two minutes it takes me to get dressed. Toss me those socks will you?” He wanted to be annoyed at Cas for waking him up when it was still dark, but the angel was practically bouncing with excitement, and he had to admit it was kind of adorable. To Dean, snow just meant being cold. Snow meant motels with crappy heaters, and years of giving Sammy his extra blankets and spending his nights shivering. Snow meant Christmas, that lovely time of year when dad had always managed to be gone, leaving Dean cutting down trees in peoples front yards in the middle of the night and stealing Christmas lights from the gas station with numb fingers. 

Dean pulled on his leather jacket and then his boots, before straightening up. “Alright Cas. To Mordor. Lets get this over with.” He feigned torture, but Cas completely ignored him and skipped to the door like a freaking pony. Dean snorted. 

Outside the world was white. Cars and rooftops and the branches of trees were all coated in a thick layer of snow. The parking lot of the motel, and the street beyond it were deserted and silent, coated too in an untouched blanket of white. Snow still fell beneath the orange glow of streetlights, the flakes thick and damp. Dean had to admit Cas was right, it was beautiful. The intense hush made him want to whisper, or reach for Cas’ hand so he wouldn’t get lost in all that quiet. He didn’t do either though, because that would have been ridiculous. 

Despite how pretty it was, however, it was just as cold as Dean expected. He zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Cas stamp patterns with his boots a few yards away. Apparently the angel was unaffected by the icy chill. “Ok Cas.” Dean complained, “We saw the snow. It’s pretty. Can we go inside now?” 

“Dean, we just got out here. Couldn’t we go for a walk?” 

“I’m cold.” “Come. It will be nice.” Cas insisted, gesturing for Dean to leave the relative safety of the little roof outside their room. He grumbled, but obeyed. What could he do? He was no good at saying no to Cas. Under the fall of snowflakes it was even colder, but before Dean could protest again, Cas reached out and took his hand. Surprised, he raised an eyebrow, but Cas just smiled. 

They headed out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk, fingers entwined. Usually Dean wasn't ok with showing any kind of affection for Cas in public. He told himself it was because what they had was special, and he didn’t want the whole world to know, but mostly he was just scared. He didn’t want to be ridiculed, or attacked for holding hands with a dude. He’d never talked about it with the angel, but he was always careful to keep a little bit of distance between them unless they were alone. But what with the early hour and all the snow, no one was around anyway, so Dean didn’t pull away. 

“See? It is beautiful isn’t it?” Cas asked, stopping for a moment to tilt his head up. He gazed upwards, letting the flakes melt on his cheeks and forehead. Dean laughed, shaking his head. But when Cas turned back to look at him, there were snowflakes stuck in his eyelashes and Dean found himself saying, “Yeah Cas, it…it is beautiful.” 

As they walked, the dark sky slowly lightened until the falling flakes could be seen everywhere, and not just under the streetlights. One lone car crawled past them, sluggish on the still unplowed road. Three kids ran out laughing onto the sidewalk, dressed to near suffocation in more layers than even Dean could fathom, and dragging a red plastic sled. Cas waved at them, and the smallest one waved back with a happy smile. Dean chuckled. “Look at you Cas, making friends like a regular human.” “What is the red thing that child is pulling used for?” Cas questioned, ignoring Dean’s sarcastic praise. 

“It’s a sled. You know, you sit in it and go sliding down snowy hills? You seriously telling me you’ve never seen a sled, and yet you’ve found the time to watch me jack off?” 

“Dean I can’t be looking over all of humanity at once. I’ve learned to prioritize.” 

Dean snorted. “You prioritized my dick?” He stared at Cas, unsure whether to laugh or be kind of aroused. Or extremely aroused. He shook his head again, looking at the ground and praying the cold would hide his faint blush. “You are just the greatest thing Cas.” He murmured wonderingly, “I don’t even know what to do with you." 

Cas was silent for a moment, and Dean looked up from his snow flecked boots, curious. Cas met his eyes and smiled. “I know what you can do with me.” 

“And what’s that?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to ignore the tingly warmth in his stomach. Maybe getting up at the crack of dawn wouldn't be so bad after all. They’d walked blocks, but Dean figured they could be back in the room and in bed in under five minutes if they ran. 

“I want to go sledding.” 

“You _what?_ ” 

“I want to got sledding, with the children!” Cas insisted with a definite hint of excitement in his voice. 

“Hell no! Cas it’s freaking cold, and I already agreed to come out here _and_ go on a freaking walk with you. There is no way I’m going freaking sledding. Dream on buddy. 

Cas tilted his head with a strikingly disappointed expression, and then tugged his hand free of Dean’s and took off down the street at a jog, following the footprints of the kids. For a second Dean was too surprised to do anything but stare. Then he cursed, sighed deeply and hurried after him. “Cas! What the hell man? You can’t just go running off!” He yelled, but Cas paid no attention. “Cas! Please. Just hold on!” 

When he finally caught up with angel, a good four blocks later, Dean was panting. Cas had caught up with the groups of kids and was crouching next to the little boy who’d waved at him, evidently introducing himself. Dean skidded to a stop, and four sets of eyes fixed on him. Cas straightened up and turned to him, looking extremely self satisfied. “Dean, this is Luke, Alex and Riley, and they have agreed to share their sled with us.” 

“Caaas..” Dean complained, “Did you have to? Just let them have their fun, and we can go back inside.” He tugged at Cas’ sleeve lightly, hoping to convince him to give up the whole sledding thing, but like usual the angel was as stubborn as ever. He sighed again, as dramatically as possible, and was just getting ready to leave Cas and go back to the room himself, when the little boy spoke up. 

“Is the grumpy man your brother?” Luke asked, tugging much more effectively on Cas’ other sleeve. Cas laughed, and kneeled down next to the boy again, probably soaking the knees of his slacks in the snow. “No, Dean here isn’t my brother. He’s….” Cas paused and Dean suddenly found that his heart was beating much faster than it had been on his impromptu run. _What am I to Cas?_ He wondered, surprised that he’d never really thought about it. It was always just him and Cas, simple as that. 

“He’s my partner.” Cas continued, glancing up at Dean. “We are like best friends, but more.” 

“So is he your boyfriend then?” The kid frowned, looking confused. 

“Yes, something like that.” Cas smiled, and Dean let out a breath he’d been holding for what felt like minutes. 

“I didn’t know you could have two boyfriends!” One of the girls interjected. “I thought it was supposed to be just a boyfriend and a girlfriend. That’s what my daddy said.” She looked back and forth between Dean and Cas, her red curls bobbing under her thick winter hat. 

“Let me just explain something.” Dean didn’t think about what he was going to say, didn’t even consider the fact that until recently he’d pretty much agreed with the guy. Instead he found himself crouching next to the girl, one hand on her shoulder. “Kid, my daddy told me the same thing when I was your age, and I believed him. Hell, I believed him for years. But it isn’t true. It doesn’t matter what…you know…what parts someone has, if you like ‘em, then go get ‘em. You understand me?” The girl nodded her head, big green eyes very serious. “Good.” Dean smiled, straightening up. “So, we going sledding or what?” 

Cas shot up, snow clinging to his slacks and took Dean’s hand with the biggest grin Dean had ever seen. Dean grinned back, rolling his eyes. The kids continued down the sidewalk, little Luke running ahead while the girls pulled the sled, and Dean and Cas trailed behind. “I cannot believe you talked me into this Cas!” Dean hissed, kicking at chunks of snow in their path. The angel just kept right on smiling at him in satisfaction, until Dean half wanted to sock him. 

When they reached the sledding hill, a surprisingly formidable slope behind a baseball field, there were already at least a dozen other kids there. Shouts of excitement filled the air as they slid and tumbled their way down the hill. Dean and Cas’ little entourage was already making their way up, and Cas tugged Dean after them. “Come on Dean. This is going to be fun!” Dean rolled his eyes again, but didn’t try to argue. 

At the crest of the hill, Alex, Luke and Riley lined up the sled and all piled in, tucking the ends of scarves and laces of boots inside so they wouldn’t drag. “You can have a turn next!” Luke called to Cas, before they were shooting off. Snow flew and the kids all screeched so loud Dean grimaced. They made it nearly to the bottom before the sled spun sideways and they all tipped out, popping up like little rabbits completely white with snow. Dean laughed. “Wow, I haven’t been sledding since I was five, and let me tell you I could make it to the bottom of the hill.” 

Laughing and shoving each other the kids pulled the sled back up and presented it to Cas. “Alright.” Dean sighed, “Let’s do this. Cas you’re smaller than me, so you get the front.” He sat down in the back of the sled and held it from sliding away while Cas climbed in between his legs and leaned back. Dean had to admit, it was actually kind of nice. He wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist and tucked his boots in next to his legs, and then turned to the kids. “Give us a good push, will you? And let me just inform you that _we_ are making it all the way to the bottom.” 

All three children dove on them at once and the sled took off so fast that Dean might have screamed. Only a little though. He clung to Cas for dear life as the cold air sliced at his cheeks and pellets of snow stung his eyes until he was forced to screw them tightly shut. Of course that meant that he couldn’t see the small rut in the path. The sled hit it and stopped suddenly, catapulting them a good five feet through the air. Cas landed on his back and Dean slammed down on top of him, their foreheads colliding. 

Dean groaned and lifted his head. He opened his eyes, and promptly burst out laughing because the angel looked so funny. His dark hair was completely matted with snow, and his eyes were wide with shock. “Fuck, that failed.” Dean giggled, rolling over and dragging Cas with him. “And you have a hard head! Dammit that hurt!” 

“I apologize Dean.” Cas said slowly, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to be worried, or smile. “I didn’t know how to steer.” 

“It’s ok.” Dean managed, breathless with laughter. “You…you have a lot of snow in your hair Cas.” It wasn’t even funny, but Dean couldn't stop laughing. He buried his face in that snow crusted hair and laughed and laughed until his cheeks were wet and it hurt to breathe. 

After their debut run on the sled, they decided to leave it to the kids and head back home to the motel. Cas thanked the kids, who had gathered around, giggling gleefully to watch Dean and Cas untangle themselves and stumble back to their feet. Apparently they were quite the spectacle. 

When they made it back to their room they were both sopping wet, and Dean’s teeth were chattering. They laid their clothes out on the radiators to dry, and then climbed in the shower to warm up. As Dean stood under the warm spray of water with his head tilted back, eyes closed and one of Cas’ hands resting lightly on his hip, he decided snow wasn’t so bad really. Hell, he’d actually had a pretty damn good morning. With a lazy grin he opened his eyes and blinked at the angel. “Thanks.” 

“For what?” 

“For waking me up early. It actually wasn’t torture.” 

“You’re welcome Dean. I enjoyed myself too.” 

“My head does still hurt though.” Dean accused jokingly, “Next time try to have a softer skull or something.” 

“Dean I don’t really think that’s physically possible..” Cas said with a worried frown, and Dean just chuckled and kissed his dripping hair, happier than he’d been in ages.


	25. Chapter 25

“I think we should do Christmas this year.” Cas, Sam and Dean were on the road somewhere in Oregon, and Dean glanced in the rear view mirror to gauge his brother’s reaction. Sure, the Winchesters didn’t have the best of track records with holidays, but Dean was all for trying to change that. 

Apparently Sam wasn’t. “Hell no Dean.” He said without even thinking about it. “I hate Christmas. I humored you when you were dying, but I’m not interested.” 

“Aww c’mon Sammy!” Dean complained, “Where’s your holiday spirit? Besides I bet Cas has never done Christmas. Don’t you think he deserves a good old traditional Christmas? You know, tree and presents and spiked eggnog and all that.” 

“Dean, I was alive when Christ was born.” Cas interjected. “So yes, I have celebrated Christmas. Though not with any of those strange customs you speak of.” 

“See Dean?” Sam said triumphantly, “Your angel isn’t even interested. And in case you didn’t notice it’s Christmas Eve and we’re in the middle of nowhere. How exactly do you presume to celebrate Christmas?” 

“I’m sure we’ll find someplace to stay soon.” Dean insisted, peering out the window at the snow covered pines, half obscured by the flakes that still fell thickly around them. The road, which curved upwards into the mountains, was deserted. “And by the way, who ever said Cas was my angel?” 

“I did.” Cas murmured. Dean turned to him in surprise, his eyes asking the angel why and how and if he could take all those clothes off sometime later and kiss that claim into his skin. Cas just tilted his head, squinting slightly, but Dean decided to take that as a yes. He reached over and patted Cas’ leg affectionately, grinning. “Look, I got me my own personal angel! Take that hell!” In the back seat Sammy snorted, and rolled his eyes. 

Ten minutes later it was still snowing, and still getting increasingly darker, and Dean decided to bring up Christmas again. He didn’t even know why he cared, usually he didn’t much like holidays, (except Valentines day - Dean wasn’t one to say no to easy sex) but this winter was different. He pretended it wasn’t about Cas, but it was totally about Cas, and he figured Sam knew it too. There was something about Cas that made Dean want to do normal things like go bowling and lay around watching TV and celebrate Christmas. There was something about Cas that made him want to do the things other people did, the things he never go to do. 

“We don’t even have to get a tree you know.” Dean said hesitantly. “Just some eggnog and shitty gas station presents are plenty for me. C’mon Sammy, how bad could it be? I promise I won’t give you another barbie!” 

“Dean, I told you I don’t want to celebrate Christmas!” Sam sounded pretty exasperated, and he lowered the book he was reading just to glare at his brother. Dean sighed, and fell silent for a while again, brooding. He had got it into his head that he was celebrating Christmas with Sammy and Cas, and he had no intention of giving that up, just because his brother didn’t know how to have fun. 

“But Sam, think about Cas. Going to see a holy baby is a totally different deal! He’s never had an American Christmas! He totally wants to learn what it’s all about, right Cas?” Dean nudged the angel until he nodded. “See? See Sammy, you’re the loser here. It’s two to one. You’re outnumbered.” 

“Oh for god sakes Dean!” Sam slammed his book closed, making both Dean and Cas jump. “If you promise to shut up about it until we find somewhere to stay, then we can have your stupid Christmas.” 

“Deal!” Dean sang, almost before his brother had finished his sentence. 

*******

It took them another hour to find any sort of civilization, and by then Dean was starting to worry they’d be having Christmas in the back of the Impala. It was Cas that pointed out the sign. “Look, Dean, that sign says Timberline Lodge is up that road there. Is that a place we could stay?” The road was narrow, and it disappeared into the trees, which made Dean nervous. After years of being a hunter you start to learn that you just don’t go up strange roads in the woods at night. Not that that had ever stopped Dean before. In contrast to the road, the sign Cas had pointed out was carved into a massive slab of wood, and looked about a million time’s fancier than the signs for any of the places the Winchesters usually stayed. Dean flicked on his turn signal anyway, and headed up the road. 

After a multitude of twists and turns on the snowbank lined road, they pulled into a parking lot and got their first look at the lodge. Even with almost the whole first floor buried in snowdrifts, it was huge. A makeshift tunnel of sorts shaded the doorway, keeping it from being completely covered in snow, Dean guessed. Warm light poured from the every window, illuminating the snow. “It’s awesome!” Dean said, at the exact same time as Sam said, “This is way out of our price range.” 

“Sam, we don’t have a price range, we steal all our money.” Dean pointed out. 

“Yeah but this is a place where rich people stay, not us Dean.” 

“Aww c’mon. It’s Christmas, and this is the only place around. Let’s go see if they’ve got any rooms.” Not waiting for his brother, Dean hopped out of the car and hurried through the thick snow to the doors. 

Inside, the place radiated warmth. There was a roaring fire in the center of the room, and Dean immediately relaxed, smiling. The mammoth wooden beams that held up the roof, and the shiny banisters on the staircase were wrapped in pine boughs and decorated with ribbons and bells. The air smelled of woodsmoke. Dean decided it was the perfect place for Cas’ first Christmas. 

It turned out there was only one room open, but Dean paid for it on the spot with a credit card that identified him as Joseph Sumner, and was already brandishing the key when Sam and Cas came it, snow clinging to their hair. “I got us the last room!” He grinned, still waving the key like a trophy. “C’mon! Isn’t this place perfect for Christmas?” 

The room wasn’t huge, just two queen size beds like usual, but it was much nicer than the usual Winchester fare. The walls were made of polished wood, decorated with photos of mountains and trees. There was a fireplace across from the beds, with a neat stack of wood next to it, and a small couch under two big windows. Dean whistled. “Wow, look at this place. What do you want to bet there won’t be a broken shower or any weird stains on the sheets or anything like that. I feel like a king!” He flopped down on the bed nearest the door with a sigh of contentment. Cas smiled at him, and even Sam looked almost cheerful as he dropped his bag and got to work starting a fire. 

Once the fire was crackling, and the room was warm enough that Dean tossed his jacket on the floor and Cas was only in his white button up with half the buttons undone, they all crowded onto the little couch and turned on the TV. The only thing on, not surprisingly, was Christmas movies, and although Dean generally hated all things sappy, he didn’t really mind when Sam switched it to the channel playing ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and leaned back with a sigh. Halfway through Dean discovered you could get room service, so he ordered them all burgers and beers, and even convinced them to bring him some eggnog, though it wasn’t on the menu. 

As the movie ended, Dean let his hand slide to Cas’ thigh next to him, and his head found it’s way onto the angel’s shoulder. “Well, we don’t have a tree, or presents, or even alcohol in our eggnog…but I suppose this isn’t so bad as far as Christmas Eves go.” He murmured with a yawn, as he felt Cas’ arm slip around him. 

“Shh.” Cas whispered. “Sam’s sleeping.” And sure enough, Sammy was fast asleep on the other side of Cas, his head tilted back at an odd angle, his mouth half open, and his empty eggnog glass threatening to fall from his hand any moment. Dean chuckled affectionately, and reached over Cas to rescue the cup. “He used to do that all the time. When he was two or three I always called him Sleepy Sammy. You think we should wake him up and tell him to get in bed?” 

“No, let him sleep.” Cas decided. “Let’s walk out to that big room with the Christmas tree we saw on the way upstairs.” 

“I’m tired.” Dean said, nuzzling Cas’ neck with another yawn, “But ok. If you really want.” 

They walked down the hall side by side in silence, hands just barely brushing. In the central room the fire burned low, and the nearly 40 foot Christmas tree Cas had mentioned glittered with colored lights. One old man sat reading in a leather chair on the far side of the fireplace, but the room was otherwise deserted. Cas stopped for a moment to look up at the tree, then turned to the row of windows that looked out over the darkened snowy landscape. Dean leaned against him, lightly, and smiled to himself when Cas wrapped an arm around his waist. 

For a while neither of them said anything. Dean gazed at the distant lines of mountains, only slightly darker than the sky. The snow had stopped, and the clouds were starting to clear. He could just pick out a few stars. It made him think of those two nights out in the fields, and he almost asked Cas if he wanted to go sit out on the front of the Impala again, but he decided against it. It was way too cold. Instead, he murmured, “Hey Cas?” 

“Yes Dean?” 

“What’s heaven like?” 

“Well..” Cas frowned slightly, like he was worried Dean was going to kill himself or something, “It’s different for everyone. Each person has their own heaven, usually a place they loved, somewhere they felt comfortable. I often frequent the heaven of an autistic man who’s place of choice is a park in the spring.” 

“So you mean everyone’s alone? Doesn’t sound all that heavenly. Let me tell you, being alone is shitty.” Dean said quietly. 

“You may visit other people’s heavens the same way you could visit someone’s house.” Cas explained, his arm tightening ever so slightly around Dean, fingers spreading out almost protectively across the edge of his stomach. 

“But what if your special place is a person?” Dean asked, “Say I wanted to spend my time in heaven with Sammy, or you know, just hypothetically I just wanted my car, and the stars and…um…you.” He turned to look at Cas, and suddenly it was all he could do not to kiss him right there in public. The angel was gazing at him with so much adoration the air seemed thick with it, and he struggled to breathe right. He would have kissed him too, if a big grandfather clock hadn’t suddenly come to life nearby, striking midnight and scaring the hell out of him. He jumped, and Cas laughed, breaking the almost heady tension between them. 

“Merry Christmas Cas.” Dean smiled, listening as the last ring of the clock died away. 

“Merry Christmas Dean.” Cas repeated, “And Dean?” 

“Yeah Cas?” 

“You aren’t alone. I’m here.” 

Dean kissed him then, arms twining around his neck and tongue tracing the edges of his lips, public be damned. Cas made a little sound of surprise, and then pressed back against him, his fingers brushing up Dean’s back. Dean decided then and there that it was hands down the best Christmas of his life, even with no presents or spiked eggnog. He fell asleep that night to the sound of coals settling in the fireplace, his brother’s soft breathing from the opposite bed, and Cas’ hands curled gently against his chest. And if he knew the lyrics to Silent Night he probably would have sang it, because everything was so peaceful.


	26. Chapter 26

After Christmas morning, and Dean and Cas running laughing through the snow, fingers tangled together and breath coming in white puffs, running until they fell in a pile of arms and legs and icy bits of snow, after the last night at the lodge, something changed. It was small, and nearly imperceptible and Dean couldn’t quite tack it down, but something was different. Cas didn’t stay every night anymore. He’d lay there next to Dean, one arm cradled behind his head until Dean fell asleep, but when Dean woke in the morning, or in the middle of the night as was becoming more and more common, the bed would be empty. The nightmares started to come back too. Dean hated that he’d come to rely on Cas so much that if the angel wasn’t there holding him, he turned right back into some shaky thing of terrible dreams and sleepless nights. He hated feeling weak. 

The thing was, it was a slow progression. Cas didn’t leave every night. Sometimes he would stay for nearly a week without once disappearing. For days on end Dean would wake with his nose tucked comfortably in the crook of Cas’ neck, a warm hand cupped against the curve of his back. But then, Cas would disappear again, sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks, and he never gave any explanation. He always left when Dean was asleep, or in the shower, or running inside a gas station to take a piss on some lonely highway. 

At first, Dean didn’t try to question Cas. It wasn’t as if he had monopoly on a freaking angel of the lord anyway. Just because Cas had told some random kids that they were ‘sort of like boyfriends’ didn’t mean that they actually were. And Cas always turned up again, wrapping his arms around Dean like nothing had happened, like he’d never been gone in the first place, so Dean didn’t really feel like he had the right to complain. He found the note though, the one Cas had left him that long ago morning, and took to carrying it around with him. He’d slip his hands into his pockets and finger it absently, until the paper became almost transparent and the words were barely readable. It didn’t matter though, because he’d long ago had it memorized. _I’ll be watching over you._ The words kept things steady, when the world felt ready to collapse. 

Finally though, Dean had to ask. They were stretched out on another motel bed, and the TV was on low, but neither of them were really watching it. Sam had gone off to the pick up some chinese food, so it was just the two of them, angel and hunter, their hands just barely touching in the space between them. Dean was telling Cas about their recent adventures to some sort of supernatural convention. “…and then Chuck got up there on stage and started telling them about how he came up with me and Sam, like we were freaking fictional characters! It was so messed up. Did I tell you there was a guy dressed up as the _hook man?_ Why would anyone _do_ that? And then they all started asking questions, and let me tell you it is just plain creepy to listen to a bunch of guys who probably never left their mom’s basements ask personal questions about my life, dressed as me! You shoulda seen it Cas! It was….it was….Cas why do you keep leaving?” The question was so sudden that it surprised Dean even more than it did Cas. He hadn’t planned to bring it up, because it made him sound needy and whiney and that was the last fucking thing he wanted Cas to think of him as. 

“Dean.” Cas’ voice was soft, “You know I have duties to attend to. Things are not very peaceful in heaven, and I am an angel of the lord. I cannot afford to-” 

“Seriously Cas?” There was a bite to Dean’s words, but he tried to push it down. He wasn’t a child. He needed to hold himself together. Getting angry at Cas wouldn’t help anything. He sighed deeply, twisting the hem of his shirt between his hands to let out some of the tension. When he spoke again, he sounded collected. “Yeah ok. I understand.” _But why did you tell me you loved me then? Why were you attacked by another angel and then brushed it off like it didn’t matter?_ He had so many questions he wanted to scream, but what he did have of Cas was better than anything else he’d had in his goddamn pitiful life, and he wasn’t about to screw that up. 

After that, they turned back to the TV in silence. Dean wanted Cas to reach out and stroke the back of his hand and up his arm like he sometimes did, but he didn’t want to ask, and the angel made no move to touch him. 

That night, Dean had the worst nightmare he’d had in ages. He was driving down an unassuming highway on a windy afternoon. Music played, something soft and strange that he normally would have mocked, but for some reason his dream self didn’t think to turn it off. At first he thought he was alone, but then he glanced in the mirror, and saw Cas and his brother in the back seat. He grinned at them, calling back something about stopping for burgers and beers, and they grinned back, happy. Everything was warm, even the music flowing thick on the air in the car. Everything was good. 

But of course it didn’t last. The dream changed suddenly, and instead of a highway, the road became tracks, and the Impala the car of a roller coaster. With an ominous clicking of wheels and gears, they were making their way nearly straight upwards against a darkening grey sky. Dean had only ever been on one roller coaster in his life, at some theme park when he was five, not months before his mom died. It was only a kiddie one, not even supposed to be scary but he could still remember crying the whole time, and crawling into his mom’s arms the minute it was over. This roller coaster was a thousand times bigger, the tracks steely black, standing like some terrible twisting animal against the dusk. 

Dean glanced back, and was relieved to find that Sam and Cas were still behind him. At least he wasn’t alone. But strapped tightly in, he couldn’t turn around properly, and when he called “Hey Cas?…Sammy?” neither of them seemed to hear him. Frustrated, and more than a little scared (not that even his dream self wanted to admit it), Dean strained against his bonds. “Cas! Sam! What the hell guys? I’m talkin’ to you!” He tried again with urgency, but still the only sound was that terribly constant _tick, tick, tick_ that marked their upwards journey. 

As they neared the end of the ascent, Dean tried again to turn, and recoiled in shock at what he saw. His brother and his angel were still there behind him, but they weren’t Sam and Cas anymore. Their eyes were solid white, lips twisted into sickening smiles. Dean strained to shove his hand in his pockets, but he knew instinctively that he didn’t have any weapons. And besides, what could he do if he did? It wasn’t like he was prepared to shoot or stab either of them. 

As Dean was still trying to figure out what to do, the coaster reached the top of its tracks, and plummeted in a nearly 90 degree drop. The wind tore at Dean’s hair and skin and he clung to the metal bar in front of him until his fingers were white. Through half closed eyes of unmasked fear he watched as the tracks in front of them became more and more insubstantial, until the car he was tethered to was falling for real, dropping comet fast into complete darkness. 

When the impact came, it was more shocking than painful. Dean rolled onto his back, breathing hard, and found himself alone in the middle of a field. The stalks of wheat were pressed flat around him like some sloppy crop circle, but when he struggled to a sitting position to look around more extensively, he could see no sign of a roller coaster, or white-eyed family members, or anything but wheat and darkness for miles. 

Dean sighed, and slumped back down to the ground. He didn’t know where he was. The broken stalks under him jabbed through the thin material of his shirt. The darkness seemed heavy in his lungs. But despite how goddamn uncomfortable he was, he couldn’t see any reason why he should get up and move. With a small groan he wiped his forehead and then let his eyes flutter closed almost lazily. _“I’ve been to hell.”_ He muttered, _“You think dying in some field is supposed to scare me? Nah, this is almost nice…”_ He trailed off, suddenly exhausted. He decided to just sleep for a while. He could figure things out some other time, when his whole body wasn’t so infuriatingly heavy. 

He was just drifting off when he was jerked back to the field by a pair of cold hands wrapping around his neck. Fighting his tired eyelids, Dean was surprised, and relieved, to find that it was Cas straddling him. The angel’s trench coat was spread around them like some strange tent, and seemed to flow straight into darkness of the field. “Cas? Thank god!” Dean rasped, “Could you…let go though? You’re..hurting me.” 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible Dean.” Cas’ voice was so emotionless that a twinge of fear shot through Dean. 

“W-why not? What do you mean?” Dean was having a hard enough time breathing as it was, without the weight of the angel’s thumbs pressing against his windpipe. It was all he could do to form words. 

“I need this body, this vessel. Michael is ready. The apocalypse is immanent. I regret having to get so close to you in order to gain your trust, and I regret having to turn you over like this, but you are a Winchester, and this is your fate. I pulled you from hell for one purpose, and that was for my brother, under my brother’s orders. It is time.” The words were cold, almost robotic in their emptiness. Maybe Cas had never been human, but there was nothing even so much as close to humanity in his voice. 

“Cas?” Dean squeaked, unable to form any other words. All he knew was that he loved Cas. Loved him so much it was a dangerous and reckless thing making his whole body feel terrifyingly out of his control. And now all of it meant nothing because Cas was still just some soldier. Cas was just a good little brother who followed orders, and had no need for a hunter with no life but the string of death and pain that hung in the air behind him like exhaust wherever he went. Cas didn’t need him. Cas didn’t love him. 

Dean wasn’t sure exactly when it had started, but he realized he was crying. “Cas.” He choked. “Cas I..I love you. Dammit I love you! Don’t do this!” His voice was scratchy and unimpressive, but he had to try. He couldn’t let it be said that a Winchester gave up so easily. “Please. Please. You…you said….you said you loved me. Don’t make me…” 

“I don’t love you.” 

Cas’ hands tightened, and Dean found himself tangled in a mess of sheets, cheeks damp and breath so erratic and rapid it made his chest ache. “Cas?” He rasped frantically, but the motel room was quiet, the bed beside him empty. Making sure that Sam was still safely in the room next door Dean fumbled for that little square of paper in his pants pocket, and then buried his face in the pillows and cried.


	27. Chapter 27

When Cas showed up the next afternoon, Dean regarded him warily for a moment. You grow up a hunter, and sometimes you forget what’s real, and what’s just the nightmares. Sure, Dean knew he’d been dreaming, he wasn’t crazy, but it had been so goddamn real he could still hear the sound of wheels on tracks and Cas’ dead voice whenever it got quiet. But Cas tilted his head, and opened his arms, and within seconds Dean was hugging him fiercely, clinging to the back of his coat like his life depended on it. The angel smelled clean and safe like he always did, and despite how much Dean wanted to confront him again, he found himself relaxing, the nightmare slipping further into the back of his head. “I missed you. Dammit I missed you Cas.” 

“I was only away for a little while…” Cas frowned. His hands found their way up to the back of Dean’s neck, and he stroked the tiny hairs there with his fingertips. Dean closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. He wasn’t one to pretend he knew anything about love, but this _felt_ like love. As close to love as he was ever going to let himself get anyway. 

“Dean, are you ok?” Cas could obviously tell that something was wrong. He pulled away, eyes narrowed just slightly. Dean had noticed that the more time the angel spent with him and Sam, the more he seemed to be able to pick up on emotion, the way most angels couldn’t. Or rather, he could pick up on Dean’s emotion, sometimes better than Dean himself could. It was both endearing and frustrating, considering that Dean didn’t like talking about his feelings. Ever. 

“Yeah Cas. I’m good. Just…tired I guess.” He sighed, sinking down to the bed and patting the spot next to him. When the angel sat down, he continued. “I was just thinking that maybe we should talk about the apocalypse. It aint going anywhere by itself, and we haven’t really been working on it enough. Something’s gonna go down, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be a heaven versus hell mega battle with Sammy and me as puppets.” He sighed again looking down at his hands. “Look man, all I wanna know is where you stand in all this.” 

Cas was silent for a moment, before murmuring, “I’m not sure I know what you’re asking Dean.” 

“The apocalypse Cas. Don’t act stupid. We both know that your entire family wants to use me as their weapon…sword…angel condom…however you wanna put it. What do you think about all that?” 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be the one telling me not to act stupid Dean.” Cas frowned, looking slightly insulted. “Do you really believe I want to see you dead?” 

“I didn’t say that! I just asked where you stand. I know your family are dicks, but they are family. I aint one to judge if you…you know…wanna stand by them.” 

“Dean.” 

“What?” His voice dripped with frustration, and just the tiniest bit of the need to be reminded he was important. Maybe it was stupid, but after the latest nightmare he needed some confirmation. 

“I don’t believe this is a conversation we need to have Dean. I told you that I love you.” 

At that, Dean softened instantly. God, he was such a sap these days. He turned and squished his nose into the crook of Cas’ neck. Everything was fine. Cas loved him. “Mmmm.” He mumbled happily, “Good, because I was starting to think I was going to have to find myself a new angel!” At those words Dean felt Cas stiffen, so he wrapped both arms around him, squeezing him tightly. “I was kidding Cas. I never want anyone else.” 

They sat like that for a long time, arms twisted around each other and eyes closed. Dean breathed in deep, long drags, until everything felt good again. ‘Cas magic’ he called it secretly, that way Cas could make him all giddy and cheerful at even the worst of times. He told himself it was probably some sort of angel mojo thing, because believing that was better than admitting he was _that_ …well…. _in love._

After a while Cas pulled away, absently straightening his coat. “Dean, it’s like this. I alone cannot hope to convince my brothers and sisters to stop the apocalypse. I am but one angel, and not a very important one at that. By…spending so much time with a human, I’ve lost the trust of most of them anyway. So I’m afraid that unless you can stop both heaven and hell single handedly, there’s nothing I can do.” He pursed his lips, looking down at Dean. 

“So that’s what we’ll do then.” Dean said simply, with a shrug. “We’ll figure it out. We started this whole mess in the first place. And besides, those bastards can’t do anything without me and Sammy as vessels right? So we’ve got a bit of leverage there. If we don’t say yes, then bam, no apocalypse.” 

“Dean it isn’t that simple…” Cas said, looking unconvinced. “My brothers have countless ways to make your life miserable if you fail to say yes.” 

“Yeah I know that Cas. But all we have to do is kill Lucifer. There’s gotta be a way. Look, Sammy ran to the library for a few hours, I’m just gonna call him, and the three of us will make a plan. Sound good?” 

“I don’t know Dean…” 

“Cas, c’mon. Wouldn’t you like it if you could stick around more? Me and you could be…I don’t know…” Dean trailed off, blushing slightly. Despite his mumbling half-nonsense, the words seemed to work wonders on Cas. The angel nodded, and stopped trying to argue, instead simply folding his hands in his lap quietly. Still flustered, Dean distracted himself from Cas’ searching look by fishing his phone from the folds of the blanket and dialing his brother. 

“Hey. Sammy my man, how’s the nerd fest at the library?….no, no…yeah I was just wondering if you could head back to the motel now. Me and Cas were thinking….yeah, he showed up about half an hour ago…no! God no! Jesus Sammy why would I be asking you to come home if we were - you know never mind. What I was trying to say is that we need to make a plan….Yes! I swear we both have our clothes on. Christ. Just get over here. Yeah….yeah sounds good, tell me about it when you get here….See ya.” 

When Dean hung up, his ears weren’t any less red. “Sorry about that Cas. He thought he would find us in a… compromising position. But he’s coming. Said he remembered something important.” 

“What kind of compromising position?” Cas asked slowly, his head tilted and an infuriatingly attractive half smile on his lips. “Maybe you shouldn’t have called him. I think I’d like to try the compromising position. It sounds enjoyable.” 

“Cas…” Dean swallowed hard. “Don’t tempt me. We’re having a serious meeting here! It’s the freaking apocalypse. We can’t…you know what fuck it. C’mere.” He grabbed the front of the angel’s shirt and pulled him almost into his lap, pressing his lips against his. The kiss was sloppy and full of abandon and Dean accidentally knocked their teeth together a few times, but it didn’t matter. If Cas’ earlier words had helped allay the horrors of Dean’s nightmare, than the kiss was a hundred times better. _God this is why I really have to kill Lucifer and stop the apocalypse,_ Dean told himself, _I want this, every single day._

Cas seemed a little surprised at first by Dean’s sudden ambush, but he quickly relaxed into him, hands slipping around to rest on the small of his back, where his shirt had slipped up just a little. Dean grunted his approval at the touch. His right hand was still tangled in the front of Cas’ shirt, and he kept it there because he could feel the angel’s rapid heartbeat against his knuckles. “Cas..” He breathed between kisses, “We..have….to win this….and then….we can…find ourselves…in compromising positions….whenever…you want.” 

At that, Dean felt Cas grin against his lips. He broke into a grin himself, and pulled away, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “You’d like that huh?” He murmured a little breathlessly. 

“Yes.” Was all Cas had to say in response. Dean giggled. That was so like Cas, to be so straightforwards about what felt. He took a few more breaths, and then leaned in to drag his lips down Cas’ jaw. It was just slightly prickly, and it earned him a little sound of pleasure. He never would have imagined that kissing a man could be so good. If someone would have asked him a few years back, in fact, he would have sworn up and down that there was nothing better than soft curves and the taste of lipstick. But now he knew he’d been completely mistaken. Because hell if Cas’ smooth chest, strong jaw and big hands weren’t the hottest things in the world, then he didn’t know what was. 

He was just going in for another round, tongue pressing eagerly into the corner of Cas’ mouth, when the door opened. Sam took two steps into the room and then spun around with an exasperated sound. “What the hell guys? Dean you swore you weren’t - Jesus you’re like horny teenagers!” 

“Sorry Sam.” Dean called, pulling away and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “We didn’t mean to…it just…sort of happened.” He was a little surprised to find that he was becoming less and less embarrassed about being intimate with Cas. He was pretty sure that if he didn’t watch out he’d be kissing him in public pretty soon. And after that it was only so long before they were going at it in the back of the Impala in the middle of…No. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that. They had important things to discuss. He shook his head to dislodge those thoughts. “C’mon Sammy. I won’t kiss him again while you’re here. You said you had something important though?” 

Rolling his eyes, Sam closed the the door and perched on the bed opposite, crossing his long legs. He was trying to act annoyed, but Dean could tell he was smiling just slightly. The bastard was actually happy for him, and he knew it. “Well…” Sam started, “I don’t know if it’s as important as whatever you were just doing to Cas right there, but I think I might have figured out how we can kill the devil.” 

*******

After that, Sam explained how he’d heard that when Bela had taken the colt, it had ended up in the hands of some higher up demon by the name of Crowley. He pointed out that being a demon, Crowley probably hadn’t found the need to use it on other demons, and therefore there had to be at least some ammunition left. All they had to do was find Crowley, get the gun, and then find Lucifer. Simple enough. They were the Winchesters after all, and it was just one demon. 

So Dean went to pick up takeout and they sat down to make a plan. “First off, do we even have any ideas as to where this demon might be?” Dean started around a mouthful of food. “And hold on, how do we even know he still has the colt? Bela took it ages ago, and he’s a freaking demon. Why would he keep around something that could kill him? That doesn’t even make sense.” 

“I don’t know Dean.” Sam shrugged, twirling his plastic fork absently. “So, yeah we don’t know if he still has it, or where he is, but it’s a lead right? We’ve tracked demons before. How hard can it be?” 

“Actually, we do know where he is.” Cas, who’d been silent for the whole conversation lifted his head. “I know where he is, but I’m afraid his house is warded by powerful enochian charms, so I couldn’t get in. I don’t know what other security measures he also employs, but he is sure to have other demons there with him.” 

Dean and Sam both stared at the angel in shock. And then, at the exact same time, Sam said, “That’s great Cas!” And Dean said, “What the fuck man?” Cas frowned, looking confused, so Sam fell silent to let Dean finish. “What the hell? You go and track down the colt without even telling us? Why would you do that? So that’s why you keep leaving in the middle of the freaking night without even waking me up to say goodbye? Jesus. You could have just said you were trying to help!” 

“I…apologize Dean.” Cas said quietly, looking a little hurt at Dean’s sudden outburst. “I thought you would be happy.” 

“I am! I just don’t see why you had to be all secretive about it. We’re supposed to be a team!” 

“My brothers are monitoring you and Sam very closely.” Cas explained, still with that pained expression. “I had to be discreet so they wouldn’t know I was working with you.” 

“Uh, don’t they already know that? You said yourself that most of them don’t trust you anyway. Oh, and not to mention your other brother who watched us rip each other’s clothes off in a porn set!” 

“Gabriel isn’t exactly in league with heaven…” Cas explained in discomfort. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever, you know what I mean. I thought you weren’t in league with heaven anymore either, so what does it matter if they know you’re working with me?” 

“I…” Cas blinked, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I…was just being cautious.” 

After a long moment Dean sighed and clapped his hands together, getting to his feet. “Well, in that case we’ll be hunting a demon tomorrow, so let’s get some sleep. It’s getting late.” Leaving his unfinished food on the floor, he headed for the shower, trying to figure out why Cas’ actions made him so angry and worried. 

It wasn’t until later, when the lights were out and Dean lay curled against Cas with his feet tucked up and his nose pressed to the angel’s chest where his shirt had come unbuttoned, that he realized something. Cas had never really answered the question of what side of the whole deal he was on. He’d simply told Dean he loved him, and brushed the question aside. And when Dean woke a few hours later, to the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock that read 1:56 AM, he found the bed beside him cold and empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to post this chapter! Hopefully there won't be so much time between this one and the next. I've been pretty busy. If you'd like you can follow me on tumblr (darkestcas.tumblr.com) as I try and update people on my progress over there. But mostly I just wanted to say thank you so much for reading this story and supporting me with such nice comments.


	28. Chapter 28

Dean did not have trust issues. Or, he liked to tell himself that anyway. He had enough other issues on his plate as it was, he didn’t need anything else to try and hide in his napkin. But the truth was it was real hard not to be messed up by the things he’d gone through. You don’t come out unscathed when you grow up with a dad who leaves you alone in motel rooms for weeks on end with only a handful of crumpled cash and the instructions to “Take care of Sammy.” You don’t leave without scars when your little brother gets addicted to freaking demon blood and doesn’t bother to tell you. So yes, it turned out, whether he admitted it to himself or not, Dean did have trust issues. 

The thing was, he’d never had any problem trusting Cas. That initial meeting in the barn where he’d tried to stab him aside, Dean had always been able to count on the angel. It wasn’t something he thought about really, it was just a universal truth; Cas was one of the good guys, and no matter what he always seemed to have Dean’s best interests in mind. Sure, he was a little bit unreliable and a little bit awkward and more than a little bit bad at most human interaction, but he was 100% trustworthy. 

But what happened when Cas did something that was more than a little suspicious? Trustworthy people weren’t supposed to avoid questions about things like which side of the goddamn apocalypse they were on, and they definitely weren’t supposed to disappear in the middle of the night right afterwards either. Dean knew plenty about people leaving in the middle of the night. So what was he supposed to do? The only thing he could do was focus on the hunt. 

Cas had provided an address the night before, and Sam and Dean had set out at dawn, hoping to make it there by nightfall. They didn’t really have a plan yet, besides simply getting inside, getting the colt, and getting out again. Dean wasn’t worried. He’d been driving himself crazy worrying about Cas and his intentions, and the thought of a good old demon hunt was close to comforting. Sure, he would prefer if Sammy stayed as far away from demons and their blood and anything related to hell as possible, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go in without backup. This Crowley guy was, as far as he could tell, a pretty high up demon. 

“Hey Sammy?” Dean asked, breaking the easy silence that had fallen a while before when they’d given up arguing over who had better taste in music (It was Dean. Obviously.) 

“Mmhmm?” Sam turned from the window to look at him. 

“You’d never say yes to Lucifer would you? I mean you’re with me in trying to kill him right?” 

“What the hell Dean?” Sam looked at him with a mixture of indignation and confusion. “Why would I not want to kill him? I was the one who let him out of the cage in the the first place. I think it’s my responsibility to deal with him.” 

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right.” Dean shrugged, shutting out thoughts of his little trip to the future. “Just making sure. Only…” He paused, frowning. “Do you think we should have a backup plan, in case we can’t get the colt? We could, you know, throw him back in the cage somehow of we can’t kill him.” 

“You want to open the gates of hell again? Dean I don’t really think that’s a very good idea.” 

“But Sammy, what if we can’t get the colt? That’s the only thing we know about that can kill him, and if we ain’t got that, we’re screwed.” Dean pointed out. 

Sam sighed. “Dean, I’m not saying you don’t have a point! But even if we knew how to open the cage, which we don’t, you can hardly expect Lucifer to just walk over and throw himself in.” 

“Jesus you’re optimistic today aren’t you?” Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Don’t help. But I’m gonna call Bobby and see if there’s any way to open the cage. Just in case.” 

“Fine. Go for it. I’m not trying to stop you. I’m just being realistic.” Sam turned back to looking out the window, and Dean sighed. Why did it feel like there was tension between him and everyone right now? He hated it. 

They stopped for lunch at a tiny cafe in some equally tiny town, before heading out again. As afternoon wore into evening the cornfields and orchards shifted into scattered trees, and then finally thick forest. Clouds rolled in rolled in slowly, and by nightfall it was drizzling. Though according to the map they were within half an hour of the place Cas had told them about, everything looked very bleak and dismal. Maybe that was fitting for a demon hideout Dean decided. 

Besides the radio, the car was quiet. They weren’t angry at each other or anything, but the imminent apocalypse made it feel like the wrong time for chatting. Even their earlier argument about music seemed ridiculously petty. So they stuck to quiet, Sam watching the dark trees streak past, and Dean tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music like he usually did. 

Not surprisingly, he was thinking about Cas. He was virtually always thinking about Cas. But today it wasn’t just the obligatory, _wow Cas is freaking cool and attractive and his eyes are prettier than the sky and I’m the luckiest dude in the world._ No, today it was more along the lines of, _what the hell am I going to do if it turns out Cas is working for Raphael and the other douchebag angels and this whole thing has been some ridiculous act, because I think I went and fell in love with the guy._ They weren’t very pleasant thoughts to say the least. He honestly would have preferred to be thinking about the demon they were about to gank, or the coming apocalypse, hell anything but the idea of Cas betraying him. 

Luckily, Dean didn’t have too long to sit there worrying, because the trees on the right thinned out and a fancy wrought iron gate marked the begging of a private road that curved up the hill. At the end of it they could see a big house, the kind you’d imagine a rich family would stay the summers in with their three sports cars and country club friends. “Well, looks like this guy must be a high up demon after all.” Dean whistled, pulling up near the gate and turning the engine off. “Either that or his meat suit is some sort of millionaire.” 

Leaving the Impala where it was, Dean shoved the demon knife in his jacket and Sam filled his pockets with rock salt shells, and they were on their way. There was a keypad on the fence with a big button to presumably call up to the house, but they left that well alone. Since Cas had said the place was warded, they had no idea how many demons were in there, so stealth was always the best option. They crept along the edge of the fence into the trees, and it wasn’t ten yards before there was a sizable gap where a branch had fallen and knocked a whole section of fencing down. Dean grinned back and Sam. “Look’s like Crowley is a little more worried about the supernatural kind of enemies. Must be the type that thinks he’s too good for a tiny weak human to kill. Bastard doesn’t know what’s coming to him.” 

They made their way up the lawn, keeping a sharp eye out for demons, or anything else unsavory, but everything was still. A little too still. Much to his annoyance, Dean found himself wondering where Cas was, and why he hadn’t shown up to help. He’d made it sound like he was going to be with them at least until the angel warding turned him back. But of course there was no sign of him. Typical. 

As if reading his mind, Sam spoke up in a soft voice. “Where’s Cas? Is…is something going on with you two- besides the usual obviously. Did you get in a fight?” 

“Really Sam?” Dean turned to look at him in annoyance. It was just like Sammy to want to have a heart to heart while they were literally breaking in to a big time demon’s house. With the way things were going, Dean was willing to bet they could be chained up in the literal pits of hell together and his brother would want to talk about feelings. “Are you seriously expecting me to talk about that right now? We’re on a job!” 

“Well Cas said he’d be here!” Sam shot back a little bit defensively. “And you two were all up in arms about something or other last night, so it was hardly crazy to assume you might know why he isn’t here.” 

“Well I don’t.” Dean snapped defiantly. He kept his voice quiet, but his tone was harsh enough that Sam didn’t try to argue. For that at least he was grateful. He didn’t need to be reminded about his problems with Cas. Not when that was all he could think about anyway. They had a job to do, and an apocalypse to stop and the last thing he needed was to mess things up because he was busy worrying over some rom-com crap. 

After that, they were both silent the rest of the way up to the back door of the sprawling house, the only sound the swishing of their feet in the damp grass. They found the door locked, which was hardly surprising, but it only took Sam a minute to get it open. It swung inwards without so much a squeak, and Dean glanced at Sam. “Does this seem a little weirdly easy to you too?” He mouthed, but his brother just shrugged. Ever since realizing that there was a chance he could kill Lucifer and set things right again, Sam had been very determined. Dean had no choice but to sigh, and follow him down the carpeted hallway. 

The house, it seemed, was nearly as empty of guards as the yard. Or, empty of guards that were any good at guarding anyway. They passed one room where two demons stood looking out the window at the darkened front lawn, but even when the floor creaked under Dean’s boot, neither of them so much as twitched. Dean decided they were either unnaturally lucky, or in serious trouble. He was mostly inclined to believe it was the latter, because since when were Winchesters particularly lucky? 

The kitchen that the hall opened into was as dark and grand and unoccupied as everything else. But the air smelled faintly of food, and there were dishes in the sink. Something told Dean they were getting closer to this Crowley. Now all they had to do was sneak up on him before he caught wind of him. Easy peasy right? 

Not so much. 

They were stepping into another hallway, this one lined with dark photographs, when there was a flash of movement and a man appeared directly in front of them. But Sam and Dean reeled back in surprise, and Dean was lucky enough to catch his heel on the carpet and tumble straight onto his back. He was up within seconds, but he could feel his cheeks burning. 

The man was dark haired and dressed in a neat suit jacket and tie, and he gazed at them with his hands clasped behind his back, his chest puffed out, and a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His bright eyes moved back and forth between Sam and Dean, and then he smiled properly, and held out a hand. “Hello boys. I’m Crowley. Brilliant of you to come. I just so happen to have a little gift for you.” His voice was slightly accented, and snarky but not altogether unkind. Definitely more charming than your average demon. He winked at Sam, and then pulled something from the inside of his jacket and offered it with the same hand that neither of them had been very interested in shaking. 

It was the colt.


	29. Chapter 29

Sam and Dean both stood there staring in a mixture of shock and confusion. This just wasn’t how things went with demons. Demons were supposed to try to kill you, or trick you, or at the very least buy your soul. Demons did not, under any circumstances, just kindly offer you the one thing you needed.  
Only apparently this one did. 

Dean decided it was definitely a trap. What else could it possibly be? The bastard probably thought he could get two birds with one stone, or two Winchester souls with one gun anyway. He probably had some elaborate plan that ended with them both in hell. Dean wasn’t the least bit convinced, but when he glanced over at Sammy, he was surprised to find him looking hopeful and about two seconds from reaching for that gun. Sure, you couldn’t blame the guy for being eager to fix what he’d broken, but still. This was a demon. 

Dean crossed his arms and took one step forwards, carefully putting himself in front of his brother. “Alright mister. It’s real nice of you to be giving out party favors and all, but we aren’t idiots. What’s the catch? See, I don’t know if you know, but I’ve been to Hell, and I didn’t really like it much. So you aren’t getting my soul, or Sammy’s for that matter!” Behind him, Sam made a sound like he planned to argue, but Dean shushed him with a kick to the shins. 

The demon, Crowley, was still smiling. “You boys are being rather rude don’t you think? Didn’t your mother ever teach you it was impolite not to accept a gift? Oh. Right. She died. Pity her soul never made it down south. I’m sure we would have gotten along great.” He laughed, twirling the gun in his hands. 

“We don’t want to mess around you fucker. Just tell us the catch so we can negotiate.” Dean’s voice was calm, but clipped with anger. This guy might have been nice for a demon, but he’d brought up their mom, and Dean wasn’t happy about it. 

“Negotiate? Now that’s what I like to hear!” Crowley turned and motioned for them to follow him. “Come sit down and we’ll have a nice proper chat.” He led them to a living room with huge windows that looked out at the lawn and the woods beyond. There were two plush leather couches that looked as if no one had ever even sat on them, plus an armchair and the biggest flat screen TV Dean had ever seem. He had to admit, Crowley didn’t have bad taste in interior design. 

Sam and Dean both took places side by side on one of the couches, and Crowley settled down opposite them on the armchair. He was still playing with the colt, running his fingers up and down the barrel and sliding it lazily from one hand to the other. Dean glanced over at Sam again and saw that his eyes were trained on the gun like a dog with a tennis ball. 

“So.” Dean crossed his arms again. He wasn’t sure why but it made him feel slightly more intimidating. “Why would you just give us the colt? I’m assuming you know what it is.” 

“Do you think I’m a bloody idiot? Of course I know what it is. I’m the king of Hell!” 

“You’re…the king of Hell?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re…doing what exactly in a mansion in the middle of the woods. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, torturing souls or something?” Dean raised an eyebrow. Somehow he would have thought the king of hell would have been a little less, well, unimpressive. 

Crowley laughed, a slightly bitter sound. “Well, thanks to Moose here,” he jabbed the butt of the gun in the air to indicate Sam, “Hell is is, well, hell. If you get my meaning. Lucifer thinks he can walk right in and take charge now that he’s out of his cage. He’s rallying all sorts of demons, _my_ demons, to serve him. So I’ll be frank with you, I want him dead as much as you do. I have no use for a gun that could kill me, but if I give it to you two, you’ll take it away and use it to kill that pesky Lucifer and there’s two problems out of my hands.” 

Dean was unconvinced. He glanced at Sammy for the third time, but his brother just looked slightly insulted, presumably at being called a moose. In another situation Dean definitely would have laughed at him, but it wasn’t exactly the time. They needed to get the colt, make sure they didn’t lose anything like a soul or two and get out. No time for teasing. 

He clapped his hands together. “Alright. Well I’m not a complete dumbass, so obviously I don’t trust the king of Hell, if that’s even what you are.” 

“Hey. Watch it squirrel.”   

“Squirrel? _Seriously?_ At least a moose is slightly terrifying!" 

“Oh get on with it.” 

“Yeah whatever. I was saying that although I don’t trust you, you’re giving us what we want and I’m really not in the mood to argue. So, uh, thanks I guess. We’ll be sure to kill Lucifer for you. But I have to ask, how did you know we were going to come for it?” 

Crowley smiled again. “It was that lovely angel friend of yours. Dark hair, trench coat, perpetual expression of confusion? You know the one.” 

Dean blinked. “Cas?” Cas had said he’d scouted the place out, not had a chat with the king of Hell! Dean was suddenly angry. _Really_ angry. Here he was, trying to stop the apocalypse and Cas was not only making him feel like shit, but also warning potentially dangerous demons that he was coming. “That bastard.” He muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe him!” 

Dean was so pissed off that he got up and kicked the edge of the couch hard enough to send a knife of pain shooting up his leg. “C’mon Sammy. Get that gun. We’re leaving.” He stormed back down the hall and out the door they’d come in, not even turning back to see if Sam had followed. 

In the cold night air he stopped and took a few deep breaths, but they didn’t help much. The rain had started again, light but persistent, and he tilted his head up and closed his eyes. This was bad. Very bad. A demon was helping him out, and an angel, _Cas_ , was betraying him. This was the worst day ever. 

When Sam came out with a triumphant grin and the colt in his hand, Dean didn’t even smile. He just grunted, “Lets go,” and struck out for the car. As if sensing that talking would be a bad move Sammy didn’t reply, and they walked back down the lawn to the car in silence, save the swish of their pant cuffs in the damp grass. The big iron gates opened as then approached them, and they walked out, got in the car and drove away with a feeling of slight uneasiness on Sam’s part, and a feeling of pissed off-ness on Dean’s. 

They drove straight through the night. Once Sam cautiously asked if maybe they should stop and get some sleep and make a plan in the morning, but Dean shot him a withering glare and he shut up about that. Dean was not in the mood for anything but driving and driving until it didn’t feel like he was going to throw up from the tightness in his gut anymore. 

The rain came in and out and sometimes the moon appeared for a few minutes to light up the wet road like a river in the darkness. After an hour or two Sam fell asleep with his head tilted forwards on his chest. The colt was still tucked in his lap. Dean sighed. At least things were going to be ok for Sammy. They’d find Lucifer, stop the apocalypse, and Sammy could feel good about himself again. That was almost enough to make Dean feel slightly better. Maybe, he thought, if he was very convincing he could get Sam to go back to college again, maybe get married, have a good life. Both of them didn’t need to follow in John Winchester’s footsteps. One more bitter old hunter would be plenty. 

Having a plan in his head where at least Sammy came out on top made things definitely better. Dean focused on that while his brother slept, and by the time he stopped on the side of a corn field to take a piss at dawn, he was humming Metallica to himself and breathing normally. 

Of course things had to go back down hill. Fast. Dean wasn’t allowed to cheer himself up apparently. He’d just buttoned his pants and was looking out at the sun coming up over the edge of the horizon, and trying not to think about that long ago morning waking up with his head on Cas’ shoulder in a similar field, when who should show up but the guy himself. Cas appeared next to Dean with only the slightest sound, but Dean knew he was there without even having to turn. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t look. But he couldn’t not look. 

The angel looked tired. His hair was more of a mess than it usually was, and his tie was so loose it was barely even tied. “Dean, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He said softly, stepping forwards. “I should have come with you and your brother. But I’m here now. I’m here to help.” 

Dean stepped back. God it was disgusting how badly he wanted to pretend it was fine and let Cas wrap his arms around him. He was tired, exhausted, and those arms were so safe…. _But they aren’t. Not anymore._ He had to remind himself. _Cas is the opposite of safe and you need to get the fuck out before this whole thing gets even worse Dean. Don’t be a pussy. Just tell him you’re done with whatever this is, and keep driving._

Dean was silent. Frozen. This was so hard he wished he could just turn and run. Running from problems was so much better than facing them, no matter what anyone said. Dean had experience. But he couldn’t run away from this one. Not now. He glanced back at the car where Sam was still asleep, his face now pressed against the glass, the first rays of morning sunlight turning his hair almost gold. When it came down to it, Dean had to protect Sammy. So even if he loved Cas, which he was pretty sure he did under all the anger, he had to do this. 

He took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was scarily calm. “Cas, we’re done. We’re not friends anymore. We’re not…whatever else we were anymore. I don’t want to see you again, and I want you to stay the fuck away from my brother too, you hear?” Then he turned, got back in the impala and drove away into the morning. Easy. 

If only he didn’t wake Sammy up with his crying after Cas had only just disappeared in the rear view mirror, maybe he could have convinced himself this was what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I want to apologize for not updating in ages. I spent the summer working a 22 hour per day job, and just had no time. But you should know that I haven't given up. So though I can't promise when they'll come, more chapters will come.  
> P.S. You can always bug me over on tumblr at www.darkestsherlock.com if I'm not writing. But for reference, I work a lot better under praise. So if you write me a nice comment, I'll 100% more likely to lock my bedroom door and write another chapter.


	30. Chapter 30

If Dean was glad about one thing, it was Sam’s conviction that if only he could kill Lucifer, everything would be ok again. It consumed him enough that he left Dean’s feelings alone for the most part, spending his days, and most of his nights too, bent over his laptop doing research. They didn’t know exactly where the devil was, so Sam had taken to obsessively looking for news of anything out of the ordinary. One day, he left Dean and drove ten hours just to come back the next morning with a sour look to report that the piece he’d read online had turned out to be some high school kid’s short story about the coming apocalypse. 

Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t get away from his feelings. He was pretty sure he’d be grateful if the apocalypse just decided to hit before they could stop it. He would even go so far as to say that he wouldn’t really mind being Michael’s vessel anymore. Hell, at least it would be over. 

It had been three weeks and there’d been no word from Cas. Of course, Dean had told him to stay the fuck away so it was hardly surprising, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Since when did Cas listen anyway? He was the king of showing up unannounced and saying the wrong things and being adorably… _No. No no no you’re not allowed to think about him you bastard._

Dean was not the slightest bit poetic, but he was starting to feel like the apocalypse was inside him more than anything. The rest of the world seemed normal enough really, if you didn’t look too hard at things. The motels all still smelled like old cigarettes, waitresses still smiled at him in diners, and the sun rose every day. But in his head, it was chaos. Even when he had a whole bottle of cheap vodka in a night, and sat on the hood of his car shivering at three in the morning while Sam slept inside, he couldn’t quiet his thoughts. He desperately missed when just a couple of drinks could make him numb. He missed when the pain could be shoved into submission with only a little fighting. He missed Cas. _God_ he missed him so much. 

But what could he do? Cas had betrayed them. Dean had trusted the guy more than he’d ever trusted anyone in his entire life, and once again he’d been fucking let down. It was like some big joke the world had decided to play on him. A big game of lets-see-how-many-times-we-can-hurt-Dean-before-he-snaps. And the only way Dean knew how to fight it was to drink until he passed out, and curse every higher power he could think of. He also cursed himself. And Cas. Stupid, awful, blue eyed, gorgeous Cas. 

After four weeks had passed since that awful morning on the side of the highway, Sam found a lead on Lucifer and apparently decided it was time to intervene in what he called Dean’s “Problem.” As if it was that simple. He sat him down in their motel room one night and gave him such a pitying look that Dean wanted to hit him. “Dean, we need to talk.” 

“No we don’t.” Half of Dean knew that being in denial at this point was way beyond ridiculous, but denial and hostility were some of his best qualities. He wasn’t about to let Sam get the upper hand here. Sam wasn’t impressed. Dean watched his brother’s lips press into a thin line of determination, and knew that they would be having that talk whether he wanted to or not. There was no escaping Sammy on a mission. He looked down at his lap, numbly noting that he hadn’t bothered to change his jeans in a few days, and mumbled, “What the fuck do you expect me to talk about Sammy?” 

“Cas.” Sam got right to the point. He wasn’t sparing any feelings here apparently. “What happened with you two? I know you don’t like talking about things but you haven’t showered in days and the amount of bottles I’ve found in the back of the car is a little frightening even for you.” 

“Sammy-” 

“No. Don’t you ‘Sammy’ me. We are talking about this Dean because you’re being stupid and self destructive and I’m trying to stop the goddamn apocalypse so it’s not really the best time for you to have a breakdown.” Sam’s eyes were still sympathetic, but his voice was firm. He was going to make Dean share his feelings if it killed him. 

Dean sighed heavily and flopped back on his bed. He didn’t want to do this. Maybe if he just refused to say a word, Sammy would give up and leave him alone. It wasn’t like his brother could actually force words out of his mouth, unless he resorted to spell work, and Dean was pretty sure Sam hadn’t sunk that low into the realms of evil just yet. Making him talk feelings was pretty bad though. 

For a while, it seemed as if his idea was working, because Sam was quiet. Dean wasn’t looking at him, but he could hear him tapping his fingers on his jeans like he was thinking. Either that or plotting. He was probably imagining how he could force Dean to talk through some cruel and unusual torture. It turned out to be even worse. 

Just when Dean was starting to think maybe he was off the hook, Sam got to his feet with an air of decidedness. “C’mon Dean.” He said curtly, “We’re going for a drive.” His tone said that there wasn’t any room for argument, and so even though Dean was the older brother and therefore didn’t take shit from Sammy on principle, he got up without a word and followed him outside. He handed over the keys meekly, and the look Sam shot him at that gesture told him maybe he should have at least pretended he didn’t want his brother driving his car. It was a look that was almost like fear. Dean was just too goddamn tired of everything to care. 

The car rumbled to life and Sam took them out of the motel parking lot and down the main street of town. The sign above the movie theater flashed its yellow and red lights. A bar further on spilled a small crowd of drunk looking girls in short dresses into the street, some of them laughing and waving at their car as it passed. A broken street light flickered dejectedly. Dean watched all of this slide past the window blankly. He didn’t even smile at the girls. 

They drove for nearly an hour, and Dean found himself drifting into a sort of half sleep, his head against the window. He hadn’t been sleeping much lately, at least not without copious amounts of alcohol, and his body was dead tired. His head had been waging war against him, shoving pictures of Cas in his face every time he tried to close his eyes, and every one of them hurt. The good memories, the bad memories, each one was a stab wound and the promise of another night without sleep. But here he was, exhausted enough that his body was dragging him down while it waited for the next attack. 

He was jerked awake when the car pulled to a stop somewhere dark and quiet. He blinked, and scrubbed sleepily at his eyes with the back of his hand. Had Sammy finally decided to just take him out in the country and shoot him to take him out of his misery? It seemed fitting, really. 

It didn’t take Dean long to wake up enough to realize what was going on. It was a clear, dark night, and they were parked out in a field. Rows made of chunky dirt led out to the edge of the sky, which arched up over them, sprinkled with stars. _No. Not this. Not now._ The anger rose up in Dean so fast it felt he had been thrown into water. One minute he was sleepy and dazed, and then next he was livid. 

Now, Dean knew anger. He and anger were best friends really, roommates almost. He’d grown up with anger dragging at him almost every day, anger at his father and the world and at every goddamn person who looked at him and saw nothing. But more than that, it was always the anger at himself. He could remember being ten years old, standing in front of the mirror and hating himself so intensely for messing up with his gun and almost hurting Sammy. So yes, Dean was very fucking familiar with anger. But this was different. This was so blinding and ruthless that he couldn’t feel his own body. He could have punched something, could have snapped his own bones, and the anger would have covered up the pain. What he didn’t realize though, was the anger was made of pain already. 

“No! Give me the fucking keys right now Sammy, we have to go!” He was shouting, shrieking almost, and Sam looked confused but he couldn’t stop. “We are not fucking star gazing right now you bastard! I know you think it’s cute because we used to go when we were kids, but it’s not! Fuck you! We have to go! We have to get out of here right now or I swear to god-” 

“Dean…Dean I just wanted to-” 

“No! I said, give me the fucking keys right now or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass. You wanna wake up dead in a fucking corn field that doesn’t even have corn in it? Yeah? Well you won’t fucking get to, because you’ll go straight to hell, and then what do you think will happen with the apocalypse?” He couldn’t stop. He just couldn’t stop. He was completely out of control and some part of his brain knew it, but he couldn’t stop. 

“What the hell Dean? Calm down! What are you talking about?” 

“Stars! I don’t want to see them!” Dean’s voice was rough and wild and Sam had genuine fear in his eyes now. He raised his hands in a slow show of surrender, like he thought Dean really was going to hit him, kill him, throw him out there in the cold rows of dirt and pretend he’d fixed something. That gesture broke Dean. It wrecked him. He drew in a breath to keep shouting and all that came out was a strangled sob. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t control himself. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok Dean, it’s ok.” Sam frowned, reaching over tentatively to touch Dean’s arm with soothing, worried fingers. It was a kindness Dean definitely didn’t deserve after his little outbreak, but he didn’t push his hand away. He just buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Sam didn’t try to say anything else. They just sat there together, Sam’s hand resting on Dean’s forearm and Dean not even trying to hold back his tears. It was almost a relief, to be honest. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but finally Dean calmed down just a little, enough to get words out anyway, and lifted his head. “I…I think I loved him Sammy.” 

“I know you did.” 

“You know?” 

“Dean..” Sam shook his head, looking a little disappointed. “I’m not a complete idiot. I know you loved him. And he loved you too. God you should have seen the way he looked at you- sorry. Sorry. I….I’ll stop.” Dean had started crying all over again, and dammit he was so embarrassed he wanted to die. 

“No..no its ok.” He managed in a strangled voice. He’d swan dive right back into hell before he admitted it, but he sort of did want to talk about it. It was all so heavy in his chest and in his hands and even his throat when he tried to talk that he needed to get it out. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. 

Dean wasn’t really sure how it happened, but somehow it was almost 4am when he’d finished talking. “I…I miss him. He’s a fucking traitor but I miss him Sammy. He makes me feel… I don’t know….good I guess. Like when you’ve had just the right amount to drink and its like the whole world is at your feet. God, that sounded fucking stupid. Never mind. You know what I mean though?” He finished lamely. 

Sam was quiet for a moment, before leaning over and wrapping Dean in a tight hug. “Hey. I just told you my feelings. Hugs are taking this way too far.” Dean joked tiredly, and Sam snorted against his neck, pulling away. “That sounds more like my dumbass big brother.” 

It was cold out, very cold, but they got out of the car and clambered onto the hood to look at the stars for a little while. Dean couldn’t shake the memories of his fingers around Cas’ tie, or falling asleep curled up with him in the back of the Impala, but after talking to Sam he really did feel a little better. Not good, not even within a thousand miles of good, but a little better. He wasn’t going to sell his body to Michael anytime soon anyway. “Hey Sammy?” He murmured after a while. 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you think’s gonna happen?” 

“With the apocalypse, or Cas?” Sam sounded a little cautious saying his name, like Dean might start crying or yelling again, but he didn’t. 

“I don’t know,” He shrugged. “Both I guess.” 

“I don’t know Dean. But we’ll figure it out right? We always figure it out.” 

Dean looked out at the dark line where the edge of the field met the sky, and then up at the handfuls of stars. Even if he never saw Cas again, even if they couldn’t stop the apocalypse and everything went to shit, the stars would still be there. Life would go on. He sighed, and then nodded slowly, trying to drink in the calm of the night. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll figure out it.”


End file.
